


Freedom is Learning to Let Go

by Madam_Marie



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Ben Hargreeves is Alive, Bulimia, Childhood Trauma, Dancing and Singing, Dave (Umbrella Academy) is Alive, Dave is a BAMF, Diego is a cop, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Eating Disorders, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Gay Bar, Gay Sex, Healthy Relationships, Hurt Klaus Hargreeves, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves-centric, M/M, Model!Klaus Hargreeves, Modeling, Powerless Klaus Hargreeves, Prostitution, Rags to Riches, Singing, Social Media, Umbrella Academy - Freeform, gay shit, idk what is happening, what in tarnation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-11-12 06:20:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 52,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18005489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madam_Marie/pseuds/Madam_Marie
Summary: There is just nothing special about Klaus Hargreeves. At least, that's what Reginald and the rest of the academy believe. Nowadays, Klaus lives his life on the streets struggling with his drug addiction and watching his siblings make something out of their lives. He's done for! That is until he meets Dave, a singer and model who completely shakes up his world.





	1. Long Nights, Strange Men

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya guys this is mainly some gay shit about Dave and Klaus <3 check the tags for warnings if you're sensitive :) I don't know where this is going so this may end up being kinda a song fic? We'll see. I love you guys and hope you enjoy :0
> 
> OH also theres like lowkey Luther/Allison in the background and like I know some people are like "ew incest" and I totally get it but heres a warning for when it pops up so everyone doesn't quake lmao

“Your life happens in the blink of an eye.” It is a common saying among people, often brought up by those who are aging and feeling the youth sweat out of their bodies with each passing day.

 

The memories of their younger years is the only thing to hold as time drifts further down into the abyss, creeping closer to death as it continues down it’s path. Even youthful generations find themselves clinging to a period of ignorance, bliss and simplicity.

 

Ironically, it is these same children who rush to adulthood, and soon find that growing up only increases these melancholy feelings.

 

There are of course, exceptions to this deduction. These people do not have a tie to the past, often due to their own desire to lose this connection.

 

Why measure the time after years of pain?

 

Adulthood did not come to them as a punishment, but rather a blessing. A child cannot withstand higher degrees of pain, and the need to survive drove them into the land of maturity.

 

One such exception is Klaus Hargreeves. Or as Reginald would call him, Number Four.

 

It was no secret that this man’s seven children were emotionally stunted.

 

However, they eventually learned to find comfort in each other. A team of extraordinary children with extraordinary abilities. None of them would ever admit that they are stronger together, but deep down in the depths of their souls it was an undeniable fact.

 

It just so happened this fact was only true for six of Mr. Hargreeves’ children.

 

In an Academy based on surreal physical abilities and unexplainable gifts, there is no need for a child without a gift.

 

“There is just nothing special about you, Number Four.”

 

The statement became branded into the boy’s brain.

 

Klaus’s lack of special abilities sent him down a completely different life than his siblings.  

 

While Ben and Diego played on their gameboys, Allison and Luther snuck moments with each other, and Five and Vanya discussed a variety of philosophical ideas, Number Four was burdened by solitude.

 

In his lonely world, a dull ache was constantly burning in his chest. The pain of being excluded and forgotten.

 

The air he breathed grew closer and closer to water as years went by, suffocating him in silence.

 

At age 12, his childhood came to an end. Instead of blissful ignorance, play times, study times and a set schedule, his mind dwelled on the idea of being numb.

 

The glorious feeling of nothing. The amazing knowledge of knowing your heart beats, but fails to feel. The relief of not caring.

 

Of course, shutting out pain was not as easy as flipping a switch.

Klaus was well aware of this, his concealed envy for Grace only growing stronger as he saw her fail to understand basic emotions.

 

God, what he would pay to live like that!

 

By 13, the boy had come to find that everything in this world had a price, that anything was possible with a will.

 

So he used the only thing he had: his beauty.

 

He never knew his birth mother, so he could only guess where he inherited his attractive qualities from.

 

People found different things about him attractive.

 

He recalls boys murmuring things about his pale pink lips, soft and gentle while pressed against the skin of another human being.

 

Some people went on about his relatively sharp jawline, claiming it complimented his mouth in alluring ways.

 

A man at a bar had once told him “Your smile is the type that makes people stop and stare.”

 

The list went on and on, from his raven hair with silky black curls, to his thin and sculpted legs that could rock a skirt better than most women.

 

Even so, there were two things everyone seemed to adore about him.

 

No matter who it was, everything came back to his enticing green eyes.

 

If Klaus desired he could write an entire book of people’s descriptions of his eyes.

 

Some compared them to emeralds, noting the way they shined in the sunlight or the little dashes of blue scattered within an abyss of green.

 

A few even compared them to stars, claiming they were gleaming and beautiful against the black eyeliner that always surrounded them.

 

Others seemed to stem from the idea that eyes are the gateway to the soul, describing them as mournful, along with declaring he had some sort of underlying agony behind their notable appearance.

 

On certain occasions, men would simply be men, making some lewd comment about their “seductive nature”.

 

His second best asset, according to the perverted society around him, was his voice.

 

The best way someone had ever described it was a woman at Griddy’s Doughnuts. Klaus couldn’t exactly remember the older woman’s name, but the way she described them was poetic and polite, unlike the way others talked to him.

 

“Your voice is like a stream,” she said.

 

“It’s this smooth, continuous sound that just makes you want to take a moment and appreciate being alive. The pitch isn’t too high or too low, but more like this perfect balance that reverberates off every object around you.”

 

Klaus had been taken completely off guard when she had chimed in.

 

Initially he found himself flirting with a boy in his late teens, hoping he would offer to pay for a doughnut or any type of subsistence at this point.

 

The guy ended up making some stupid joke, that Klaus had actually found funny, his real laugh coming out smooth, unlike his usual forced one.

 

“You know, you have the most satisfying voice I’ve ever heard,” the boy chuckled.

 

“My voice is satisfying?”

 

“Especially when you laugh. It’s just the sweetest sound ever. Whenever you talk it’s like my ear is having an orgasm.”

 

That was when the woman at the shop came over to the counter.

“What can I get for you two gentlemen tonight?”

 

The guy ordered something generic, then turned to Klaus.

 

“You want something?”

  
He smiled, knowing his plan had worked.

 

“I’ll just take a chocolate eclair.”

 

“I couldn’t help but overhear, but you do have a very nice voice, young man,” she commented while writing onto her notepad.

 

“I told you! I just can’t describe why it’s nice. It just _is!_ ” his “date” chuckled.

 

That night wasn’t really the first time someone had complimented his voice, nor was it the first time he flirted to get what he wanted.

 

Compared to other things he had acquired, flirting to get a doughnut was an innocent thing.

 

It was countless times he had flirted for drugs.

 

Everything has a price, it just depends on how you’re willing to pay it.

 

Flirting had turned to kissing to sexual favors.

 

Even through his high, with excitement tingling through his veins and mind finally tranquilized, shame was underlying his every action.

 

He knew others who suffered the same accursed fate as him, living only for the next high.

 

Klaus eventually figured out their guilt resulted from losing everything to drugs. A stable home, a perfect family and a perfect life.

 

Others had assumed he had also lost everything. Rumours around the streets spread, all focused on the idea that he was rich before succumbing to his addiction. Mainly because of his jacket, the only one he had. It was black with a few grey geometric shapes on it, each of the seams covered with real, jet black fur from some sort of animal.

 

It was a multi-thousand coat, yet he refused to sell it. So people began to talk, saying it held sentimental value for him.

 

This was all bullshit, but Klaus would never give them the satisfaction of knowing the truth.

The truth that the coat was never his to begin with. Nothing was ever _his_ to begin with.

 

Indeed, he had once lived in a house worth well over three million dollars, ate five star meals and lived with a billionaire.

 

It was never his though. His failure to make the cut in the Academy naturally implied he was only given things because the others were.

 

The money, the house, the academy, his family. They never did and never will belong to Klaus Hargreeves.

 

His mindset was based around the fact of the matter “You can’t lose something you never had to begin with.”

 

As for the true source of his guilt, it was not because of losing a battle to drugs. The irony was that he truly had nothing for them to take.

 

The unbearable guilt, was over his bodily abuse. The only thing that he ever owned, the only useful thing he ever had.

 

God he abused it in every way.

 

At this point, his sweat was the tears of his blood, crying due to the pollutants gradually destroying it.

 

Klaus was always told his body was a temple, a precious thing that only someone special should have access to.

 

Now it was more like a public park than a temple. Men came and went as they pleased, not caring about damaging it. Having no sympathy for something they saw as pathetic.

 

With time, dark circles formed under his eyes, ones that could never be removed with simple makeup wipes.

 

His face was so thin you could cut your finger on his sharpline, as there was barely a layer of flesh upon it.

 

Beneath his expensive jacket was a torso so thin you could count his ribs and a stomach so flat it was closer to his body than his hip bones.

 

At 14, his body was pure and gorgeous.

 

Pale skin that had never been bruised or touched by strange men, abs slightly showing under his hardened stomach, accompanied by a V leading down to his groin.

 

His legs had a shape back then, his calves perfectly toned and thin in an attractive way.

 

He had an ass too, that made all of his ripped jeans look amazing on his thin hips.

 

Now he was like a rail. Lacking any curve or soft flesh. Instead he was a tiny sack of bones with fingers so thin you could mistake them for white pencils.

 

His old pants barely clung to his non-existent hips.

 

But then again, this was the life he chose.

 

Never would he blame someone else for his decisions. The second he ran out that house, Reginald demanding he never return, the choice was made.

 

Of course he wished to forget that house, forget his failure of a father, forget the whole damn Umbrella Academy.

 

But not his siblings. That house could burn to the ground and he wouldn’t feel a thing, but the people inside aren’t cold structures just like the academy.

 

Klaus missed them everyday of his life. He dreamt of them every night since he left. Those other six children were the closest thing he ever had to a family.

 

It would be a lie if he said he never wondered what they were up to.

 

He will never admit that every week he goes to the public library and uses the computer to check out their facebooks.

 

They were all so grown up now, with a few traces of their teenage years still ingrained in them.

 

Luther didn’t really have social media, but he found out a few things from Allison’s facebook. Apparently the old man had sent him up there to do research for a while. He had returned to Earth a few months ago.

 

Diego was doing well for himself. He honestly used Facebook a lot more than the others. There were a variety of pictures of him at a Police Academy. A whole album was called “Graduation” and consisted of pictures with their other siblings and the graduating class. A majority of them were with a young woman who appeared to be graduating.

 

She was cute with her dark brown hair pulled back in a wavy ponytail, smiling next to Diego who never looked happier in his life. The captions said things like “My lovely Eudora graduating with me today” or “What would I do without this girl?”.

 

Allison had also done extremely well for herself. She had been in a few movies and is rising to fame. She’s just a pretty as Klaus remembered. Her voluptuous curly hair and breathtaking smile were the focus of many pictures. Unfortunately she got married and divorced, which was pretty obvious when her relationship status went from “Married” to “Single” in a few months. Apparently she also had a daughter named Claire, who was a perfect replica of her mother.

 

Five also wasn’t very big on the whole “social media thing” but some stuff on Vanya’s instagram revealed he looks exactly the damn same as he did when he went missing. There was a brief post about how he time traveled and fucked up the equations when returning to this time period and ended up looking 15 even after all these years. His black hair was still neatly parted and complemented by his blue eyes. He’s still his same old salty self after all.

 

Ben ended up taking up photography and more artistic hobbies. He was never really into the whole “I have super powers and I’m gonna save the world!” thing, even as a kid. The dude really does have an eye for photography, a few of his photos were bought and put in ads and magazines. It seems like he finally found the more peaceful like he was so desperate to find as a child.

 

Vanya was always interested in the violin as a child and ended up following her passion. She plays in an orchestra and got the main chair. She also wrote a few books, which Klaus found quite interesting. Her relationship with Allison also seemed to improve, as they weren’t very close as children.

 

As a matter of fact, the relationships between everyone had improved. Of course Diego and Luther still had many issues, but overall they seemed to spend more time together. Photos of them doing normal things were all over their accounts. Bowling, throwing parties, going to Vanya’s concerts and Allison’s movie premieres.

 

Klaus couldn’t deny this warm feeling that would wash over his chest whenever he looked at these photos. His heart would beat so fast he would start to sweat and this fire would ignite, burning away any of the effects of his high. It took years to discover that this ignition was not one of rage, but rather affection in its purest form.

 

His thin fingers would linger over the keyboard for a few seconds, until pressing Ctrl + P. He was grinning so wide his cheeks began to ache and a thrill shot up his spine as the photo of his siblings formed onto a sheet of paper.

 

Sometimes he would become so short of breath he would clutch his chest under his silky black and grey jacket.

 

He held that same picture in his pocket for years.

 

Everything about it was breathtakingly beautiful.

 

The smiles on his sibling’s faces were legit for once. They were finally free to live and make their own choices, create paths for themselves without their father interrupting.

 

It was always in these moments, seeing these former captives liberated and enjoying the simple things in life, that Klaus made peace with the fact he had been forgotten.

 

Freedom is learning to let go.  



	2. Is It True That Pain Is Beauty?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not very eventful, more of a glimpse into Klaus's daily life. I'll try to keep updates consistant guys <3 Yall have been so supportive and shit and I hella love you guys :) 
> 
> There are a few derogatory terms used in this chapter, so if your senstive to that please read with caution <3
> 
> Again, I love you guys and appreciate all the support
> 
> #YESDADDIES

There is an immense amount of beautiful things on planet Earth. Some are natural, crafted by the elements already present in the untouched areas of the world. 

 

From mountains cutting through a starry night sky, to a cerulean ocean capturing rays of sunlight, nature was capable of extraordinary things. 

 

Beauty does not only come in a visual form, but rather all forms. 

 

The velvety texture of a dog’s fur, the sound of birds chirping around dawn, the sweet scent of lilac bushes growing in a wooded area and the taste of a sugary raspberry. All enlightening in it’s own way. 

 

There are, of course, man-made things just as magnificent. 

 

Stained glass windows are parallel to natural bodies of water, designed to cling onto rays of light. 

 

Skyscrapers are synonymous to mountains, slicing into the night sky above. 

 

Above all, Klaus adored the grace of New York City. 

 

Crowds of beautiful people wandering the busy streets, staring out windows, and towering over the rest of the planet. 

 

These days, the man often found himself wandering these very streets, his verdant eyes absorbing the shining lights overhead. 

 

Today the temperature dropped drastically, the wind chill enough to send a shiver of hypothermia down your spine and burn your skin. 

 

“Number Four” found himself breathing into the fur collar of his coat, the little slivers of hair blowing gently with each breath he took. The city lights were so bright a rainbow gleam was cast upon the black pelt. 

 

His skinny fingers clutched the end of his overcoat, the sting of winter quickly jabbing into his bones. The articles upon him were a dead giveaway of his “profession”, which naturally gained him many stares. 

 

People give each other a look when he passes them, both parties connecting the dots about his lifestyle. 

 

He knows people have minimal, if any, respect for those like him. Thus, people are open about disapproval and judgements.

 

Others fear a kidnapper is behind them, but Klaus only came to fear comments and whispers creeping behind his back. 

 

“Was that a male hooker?” teenagers will ask one another, glancing back towards him to create a judgement based entirely on his physical appearance. 

 

Comments of disbelief were the most common, and the least degrading. 

 

There is always someone who has to take it too far or pick a fight, no matter where you dwell. Cities tend to have the largest numbers of this type, along with everything else. 

 

If the cruel things society says about you were to get tattooed on your body, Klaus knew every inch of his skin would be marked by an insult. Some real, and some made-up.

 

“Slut”, “Faggot”, “Whore”, “Worthless…”

 

Even after hearing these words a thousand times, the sting remains in your chest and grows into a swirling pool of disgust and self-loathing. 

 

The truth hurts, so all that’s left to do is man up and bear each hit as it comes. 

 

“Every action has an equal or opposite reaction”

 

Perhaps this applies to beauty as well. For each beautiful thing, there is something even more beautiful or something dreadful. 

 

In time, one learns to keep their head down, gaze locked onto their own feet while walking into a place you are unwanted. 

 

So this is exactly what Klaus does. 

 

He focuses on his worn black booties that struggle to hold onto his bony ankles. Almost naturally, he begins a game in his head. 

 

The rules are simple:

Count the number of concrete sidewalk panels you step on. 

 

When there is a crack within the pavement, restart. 

 

“One, two, three, four, five, six. One, two, three. One. One, two.” 

Before you know it you’re on a street you never heard of. 

 

Klaus had finally reached ten after about an hour of walking. He lifted his head to examine his surroundings. 

 

A majority of this street was filled with expensive shops, displaying high-quality clothing in their spotless and well-lit windows. 

 

He slowed his walking pace into more of a stroll, feet gliding gracefully against the ground. 

 

It seemed like money could buy anything in this day and age. 

 

He took a paused for a moment to window shop outside a candy store. 

 

The inside was packed with a rainbow of colors. Cotton candy machines spewing out sugary fluff in a variety of pastel colors. Displays of odd shaped gummies in any color one could imagine. Oversized lollipops swirled with the primary colors. 

 

On display in the window were numerous over-sized stuffed animals with candy baskets. One was a silky looking pink teddy bear with a basket full of strange flavored Kit Kats. 

 

In front of the plushies were carefully sculpted chocolate structures. A few were shaped like wrenches, hammers, screwdrivers and other tools. 

 

There was also a train, a dog and a figurine type structure, closely resembling Marilyn Monroe. 

 

Klaus was broken out of his observations when the door opened, a high-pitched bell ringing along with it. 

 

A middle-aged man with his two daughters stepped out. 

 

The girls were young, probably around the age of eleven. Their attire was clearly high-end, hats and gloves designer, heavy wool jackets. 

 

The girls were about to walk past him, when one stopped in their tracks and glared at him with a youthful curiosity. She held a pink lollipop in her gloved hand, her hair was blonde and curly.

 

The father seemed to pick up on this, the second he laid eyes on him, a scowl spreading across his wrinkling face. 

 

He abruptly nudged his daughters to go into the other direction. 

 

“Daddy, why was he dressed like that?” 

 

“Quiet, Olivia,” the man demanded through gritted teeth. 

 

With that, Klaus ditched the candy shop and continued down the path of stores. 

 

There wasn’t really anything  _ that  _ special, overall just things you would expect to find. 

 

A few ceramic shops showcasing teapots, mugs and bowls. Clothing stores with headless white mannequins adorn in the latest styles. 

 

However, when he neared the corner, a tailor shop caught his eye. 

 

The tuxedos in the window were breathtakingly stunning. 

 

They weren’t your average black, blue or beige tuxes, but were instead a new variety of different colors.

 

The mannequin in the center of two others was dressed in a wine colored one, complemented with black around the sleeves and torso area. Underneath and velvety jacket was a maroon vest with three buttons and an exquisite design of swirls and curls. 

 

It’s plastic hand held a top hat, matching in a crimson color. A black band was wrapped around the lower half of it, creating the monotone look of the outfit. 

 

Klaus could picture numerous men off the top of his head who would look amazing in the crimson tuxedo. 

 

He personally would wear it if he ever had the money to afford it, but only a fool would have such high hopes. 

 

When you’re on the bottom of society, window shopping is about the only kind of shopping you’ll ever do. It was a reasonable conclusion that anyone could draw for themselves. 

 

His focus on the clothing was only broken when something sparkling and white drifted through the air and across his vision. 

 

As the snowflake fell to Earth, it swayed back and forth in a rhythmic pattern, free to do as it pleased.

 

He placed his thin hand in front of him with the palm facing the sky. “Hello” a tattoo upon his hand read. 

 

A shimmering particle of snow landed in his grasp, right between the two L’s of his tattoo before succumbing to his body heat and melting into a drop of chilly water. 

 

How was it December already? Where did this year go? 

 

Klaus had stopped noticing seasonal change a few years ago which is quite ironic, as he spends a majority of his time outdoors. 

 

However, month after month of chaos eventually just blended together into a grimey grey color in which everything was the same. 

 

December implies October already passed, which implies his birthday already passed. 

 

Birthdays don’t mean a thing when you travel in solitude. In all honesty, any type of occasion loses its value as you drift further and further away from the shore and into a frigid sea of ice. 

 

Twenty five. How was he only twenty five? 

 

His body ached as if he dragged it around for over fifty years. His body shook as if it was nearing one hundred and preparing for shut down. 

 

Comparing was easy when your mind and your body have given up.

 

Twenty five year olds are supposed to go out and party until they black out. Twenty five year olds are supposed to be young and full of life, fearing the inevitable grasp of death.

 

How is that so?

 

Klaus came to see he was nothing like others his age when he was only nineteen. 

 

While others found new freedoms and goals to spark an entire new inferno, he felt his internal flame dwindling. 

 

He wasn’t even twenty by the time it began to smoulder, tiny sparks clinging to soggy wood that failed to revive them. Just like that, his desire to live and push forward was eradicated. 

 

Perhaps desire is what makes us human, as after it was lost, Klaus Hargreeves became a walking corpse. 

 

A skeleton adorned in flower crowns, makeup and jewelry to hide the true grievances of death. 

 

It was strangely beautiful in a way- the desire to cry but remaining bone dry for the next eternity. 

 

A few snowflakes had evolved into an entire army of them. The little white specks scattered across his black hair, silky jacket, and colorless skin. 

 

That was his que to leave the bustling city, fresh with hopes and dreams, and retreat back to the corner of New York laced with nicotine and lost wishes. 

 

It was no longer the time to linger, especially with the air freezing ever so slightly. 

 

His pace was much quicker this time around, his feet competing with each other, trying to land ahead of the other. A race to escape the wind chill. 

 

This continued as he rushed down many city blocks, barely even stopping to catch a breath. When he did, twinkling snowflakes would scatter throughout his respiratory system, melting against his rotting lungs. 

 

Klaus’s journey remained uninterrupted until he was about twenty minutes from “home.” 

Out of nowhere, his reddened ears picked up on a sound so familiar, his heart skipped a beat. 

 

He instinctively raised his head to search for the source, which happened to be some sort of new LED flat screen television, bright enough to summon a headache. It was in the front window of an electronic repair store. 

 

It was Allison on the TV. 

 

He would know her voice anywhere, could pick it out from any cloud of overlapping noises. 

Just hearing it brought a smile to his pouty lips. 

 

She looked stunning with cameras focused on her, desperate fans calling her name in worship. Little flashes of white light popped up around the screen as photographers took photos from any angle imaginable.

 

Maybe Ben was there too, capturing her essence with his camera lense. 

 

It was nice to imagine how the others must live. WIth their fame, family name and the beautiful people. 

 

A family name that didn’t need the burden of a drug addicted hooker. 

 

If the weather had permitted, the man would have stood outside that window all night, however, a fifteen minute pause had nearly turned him into an ice sculpture. 

With the night coming to an end, everyone had seen everything, leaving nothing much to do. 

Nothing to do for functional people. 

 

Klaus slivered one of his hands into his coat, fingers fiddling with the tiny plastic bag holding around a dozen blue pills. 

 

The long awaited time was finally nearing. The moment where freezing capsules would slide down his dry throat and numb him on the inside and outside. 

 

Tonight would be like any other. Another blur in a life of chaos. 

 

Finally his body would feel the way his brothers and sisters’ bodies do. 

 

They could get high off living a life filled with excitement, eventful nights, fame, passion and occasional doses of pain. The only kind of high Number Four had never experienced. 

 

For now and for forever, pills would do. 

  
  



	3. I Have Questions Haunting Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> finAlly some stuff is happening. not like major shit but the plotline is slightly progressing after three chapters LMAO
> 
> #WRITING100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bruh my search history weird af rn
> 
> "gay bar name generator"
> 
> "crack house"
> 
> "moldy bathtub"
> 
> my fbi agent is probably like what the fuck
> 
> heres another chapter for all of you beautiful people!  
> yall really out here encouraging me and shit and i can't thank you enough <3 
> 
> ao3 got some hella daddies, aka yall

Today was colder than yesterday. 

 

A thin layer of white specks covered everything, reflecting blinding white light in all directions. 

 

It was far too bright. Stepping outside without the protection of sunglasses meant a journey of squinting. 

 

The air froze and chilled anything it touched. Mother Nature’s own personal freezer. 

 

The off-white tiles were crisp, the multi-colored mold within the grooves shriveling and dry, attempting to shield itself from the frigid atmosphere. 

 

The aging porcelain of the bathtub was just as bitter, rubbing against exposed skin of the lower back.

Klaus lay motionless, a frozen bottle of vodka clutched in his palm. One of his legs hung over the cracking edge of the tub, the other bent and laying limp against the wall. 

 

His bloodshot eyes drifted around the filthy room, imagining how it had looked in its younger days.

 

The spout and shower were covered in peeling layers of white crust, likely some type of old hair product. They were probably a gleaming stainless steel at one point, although now they had grown into a dull grey with occasional patches of brick red rust. 

 

There was no toilet, only a few abandoned pipes and a moldy stain where it had once been. 

 

The sink was in a similar state as the tub. Faded white, cracked and moldy. There were no handles next to the rusted faucet, only some type of old bolt where handles would have connected. 

 

Pastel pink paint barely clung to the walls, large peals of it hanging freely and revealing aged grey concrete behind it. 

 

A singular window, covered with dust and dirt, allowed wee amounts of sunlight into the cramped room. 

 

Upon the ceiling were the remains of a light source, with long cylinder light bulbs cracked and beaten beyond recognition. Even if they were intact, the house’s lack of electricity would have rendered them useless.

 

No electricity meant no heating. That was obvious, as the temperature inside was parallel to that outside. 

The tub itself was about as cold as antarctica, the brisk condition of it chilling his lower back, which his sheer, polka dot crop top failed to cover. Although even if it did, the thin material would fail to retain any warmth. 

 

Not even his usual fluffy jacket was enough to shield him from the winter. 

 

The fact he had barely any meat on his bones sure as hell didn’t help.

 

He forced himself to sit up. God, his torso felt heavier than a bag of bricks, his thin arms pushing against cool tile to support himself. 

 

The familiar ache throughout his body had returned. All 206 of his deteriorating bones screamed from the slightest movement. It’s a miracle they haven’t shattered into a million pieces already. 

 

After carefully stepping out of the tub, he ditched the vodka bottle, tossing it into the grimy sink with shattering sound piercing his ears. 

 

Who needs a frozen chunk of vodka anyway? 

 

In all honesty, his location was a complete mystery. He figured it was a crack house somewhere around his usual one. 

 

People were downstairs. The amount of noise was a dead giveaway. A couple of girls were cackling loudly, a maniacal undertone beneath each incoherent sound. There were at least two of them. 

 

He walked through the soiled doorframe of the bathroom, only to find a hallway overflowing with trash and just overall filth. 

 

The aroma of weed was heavy in the air, burning his nostrils and throat in a pleasantly painful way. 

 

Klaus noticed a few other rooms with closed doors, but didn't bother to open them due to the fear of what he may find. He’ll take a pass on finding someone dead from an overdose, completely aware that “someone” would probably be him one day.

 

He often found himself wondering about his death. Perhaps it would be a warm summer day, with birds singing in the pure blue sky. Someone just like him would end up in a house overflowing with junkies and stumble upon his lifeless body. 

 

Maybe that person would assume he was dead for months, even if it hadn’t been five whole hours. He was nearly a skeleton while alive; it wouldn’t take an excessive amount of time for the little skin and meat upon his bones to decompose.

 

One day.

 

But not today. 

 

He made his was down a set of wooden stairs, so old they shook with each step he took. 

Anyone over one hundred pounds would easily cause the entire structure to collapse and splinter. 

 

They lead to a living room, infected with squalor and addicts. 

 

There was a trio of girls hanging on a torn couch. The faded fabric still clung to a floral design which was nearly invisible. Tears within it caused grey stuffing to leak out and onto the grotty floor.

 

One of them, in a dilapidated football jacket, kneeled in front of the couch. The number 27 was imprinted on the back in a grimey yellow, covered in stains. Above the digits read ”Ramirez.” Her greasy black hair hung past her shoulders and remained tucked behind her ears as she leaned forward, snorting little thin white lines off the chest of a blonde woman. 

 

The blonde was barely conscious, mumbling non-existent words from her chapped lips. Her shirt was off, only a black lace bra shielding her upper body from the cold. 

 

The third woman had light brown hair, sitting next to the one in the football jacket. Her bony fingers clung to a joint, shaking uncontrollably. Dark brown eyes looked forward, but failed to focus on one specific thing, leaving them with a lost appearance. 

 

The trio was either too high to notice him, or failed to care. Most likely a mix of both. 

 

It was a shame. Those women were obviously gorgeous at some point in their lives. Beneath crumbling faces, peeling lips and dead eyes, you could tell they had natural beauty, wasted on a life of addiction. 

 

As Klaus turned towards the door, a sharp sting manifested above his right clavicle, where a deep purple and red mark stained his white skin. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was a hickey or simply a bruise and decided he would rather not know. 

 

A rush of icy breeze seized him the moment he pushed his frail body against the disintegrating front door. 

 

Opening it brought an entire new list of horrors, frosty air seeping through his skin and chilling the blood running through his veins. 

 

In just one day, the sun had grown cruel, casting blinding rays into emerald eyes and failing to share any of its usual warmth. 

 

Walking down the sidewalk no longer created an echoing tapping sound, but rather a satisfying crunch as fragile flakes of snow crushed beneath your weight. 

 

The streets became flooded with a gruesome mix of grime and melting ice, creating a soggy, slush type of substance that clung to anything it touched. 

 

It embedded itself within any groove it encountered, from car tires to cracks in the sidewalk. 

 

It’s rather sad how many parallels could be discovered between Klaus and this winter substance. 

 

Lacking a purpose, proving to be a nuisance and tainting anything it touched. 

 

His body pushed against the winter, feet struggling to detach themselves from the ground. 

 

During the journey, his mind reflected on his inescapable bad luck. It was not a reflection based on self pity, but of indisputable fact. 

 

Life was like a card game- based on chance. 

 

Living is as simple as playing “Go-Fish”.

 

You’re dealt seven cards after they are shuffled and randomized. All beings have the same chance. 

 

The lucky ones end up having matching pairs, granting them an advantage from the very beginning.

 

Some get a pair or two of matching cards, giving them something to work off of, and possibly catch up to those who are blessed. 

 

Lastly, there are people like Klaus, who fail to even get a single matching pair. Their hand is a chaotic storm of contrasting cards who will never end up with who they desire. 

 

You try desperately to gain a matching card, but to no avail. 

 

Until the very end, you are cursed by contradictory cards that slice through soft skin to create paper cuts. 

 

Even when smudged with crimson liquid, they stay in your possession, learning to be content with loneliness. 

 

Strangers are much like opponents. Not one will care about you or your misfortune. Above all else, they value personal success and will take great measures to gain it, regardless of who ends up paying the price. 

 

As if to mock him, a stroke of this alleged bad luck broke him out of his internal monologue. 

 

The deep roar of a car engine could be heard at an increasing volume, reverberating off the chilled air it broke through. 

 

As the automobile grew closer, its expensive design became more apparent. 

 

One of those sleek sports cars coated in a peculiar color with an engine louder than booming thunder. 

 

A flash of gold raced down the road, not bothering to avoid a dip in the pavement which had transformed into a puddle of solid chunks and contaminated water. 

 

Before Klaus could even blink, the wheel had made contact with the liquid, it’s fast speed creating a fountain of liquid flying right onto him. 

 

The force created a wave so tall it hovered over him, tiny black drops of water spreading throughout the air. 

 

Gravity in it’s merciless nature pulled down the surge of filth, polar liquid tingling against his skin and soaking into the fabric of his clothing. 

 

In a fit of rage, he lifted his right calf slightly before abruptly tugging off his boot, chucking it at the gold vehicle as it sped off, leaving it’s mess for others to clean. 

 

“You  _ fucking  _ **_ASSHOLE!_ ** ” he howled, the insult tearing through his vocal cords and scratching against his dehydrated throat. 

 

Luckily his aim was decent, the little black shoe ramming into the back windshield before flopping pathetically onto the soggy street. 

 

He limped over towards it, the sharp pieces of salt upon the ground jabbing into the bottom of his bare foot. 

It slid back on his foot easily, as it had grown narrow when his weight dropped drastically. 

 

“Fucking douchebag,” he whispered to himself before flicking his wrists in order to eliminate a few of the water droplets clinging to them. 

 

His coat, shirt, pants and hair had become drenched in grime, only adding to the shock of the city’s low temperature. Being out in the cold was no longer a mere sting, but now a full on burning sensation. 

 

Frostbite tore at his ears and nose, his nerves screaming at him to find a heat source. The reddened skin soon became numb, while the surrounding areas ached. 

 

His hands instinctively crawled into his pockets, where a few loose coins jingled between his fingertips. 

 

In this condition, there was no choice but to go to the laundromat and fix the clothing situation. 

 

By some miracle, an older laundromat was located about a block away, calling to him through the wind. 

 

The last of his energy became focused on a sprint down the block, being fully aware of the fact walking would take far too long and result in the excruciating pain of being turned into a popsicle. 

 

The building was placed between a hookah shop and a 7/11, in a tiny and rundown strip mall. 

It had some generic name, along the lines of Sunshine Laundromat or something like that. 

 

The letters above the door were a childish looking font, decaying with each passing second. Abandoned birds nests of brown straw hung loosely between the metal characters and occasionally, slivers of the dried material would fall onto the ground below. 

 

Inside of the mat wasn’t in great condition either, dull, stained white and black tiles checkered across the floor. Dimmed light bulbs barely hung onto the crumbling ceiling, flickering every few minutes. 

 

Still, it was better than being outside in soggy clothing. 

 

Stepping inside proved to be a pleasant surprise- there was actually heat! 

 

God, Klaus had forgotten the ecstacy of being warm, feeling every tingle under your skin. 

 

He walked down the rows of rusted washing machines and dryers before settling near one in the corner. 

Jesus christ, two dollars to wash and two dollars to dry! Unfortunately he would have to do two loads, totaling to around eight dollars.

 

There goes lunch for today. 

 

“Fuck,” he gasped to himself before removing his jacket and tossing it on top of the machine. 

Next came his skimpy shirt in a quick movement and his bare chest was then covered with his jacket again. 

 

It would be long enough to cover him while he threw the rest in the wash. No one had to know he didn’t have anything under. 

 

So there he lingered for about an hour and a half, pacing, sitting, and fiddling his thumbs. 

 

When a loud beep cut through the silence, he pulled his garments out of the dryer and slid them back on. 

 

Now for the coat. 

 

Of course, those thick black pockets pretty much held everything he owned. Thin fingers searched through the crevices, pulling out an array of objects.

 

A pack of cigarettes, a few loose ones too, the NYX eyeliner he had stolen from Walgreens, his ID, crumbled old receipts, a rubber band, chapstick, a little blue lighter, loose change, and of course his little baggies stuffed with drugs. 

 

Those went into his pants pocket for the time being. No need to display them with the rest of his useless junk. 

 

Without much to occupy his time, Klaus wandered over to a billboard near the front of the place, papers pinned over other papers, which were pinned over other papers. 

 

A majority of them were job ads for cleaning services, lawn care professionals, exterminators, dog walkers and along with any other profession you could dream up. 

 

However, one stood out from the rest. It was an advertisement for a new bar and nightclub. “ **_The Tunnel_ ** ” was printed near the top in bold white letters. It was obviously a gay bar. “ _ Opening January 2nd”  _ it read below the title. 

 

Damn did it look appealing. 

 

He looked to his left and right, checking for witnesses. When the coast was clear he ripped it off the board in a swift movement and shoved it into his pocket. 

Now we’re talking. 

  
  



	4. Round and Round

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BIG PAPA DAVE HAS FINALLY ARRIVED!! 
> 
> SOOOO heres some hella dave developement (FINALLY)
> 
> okay, im finna just keep it real guys:  
> OUR BABIES ARE GONNA MEET NEXT CHAPTER
> 
> but im conflicted af so im just gonna ask you daddys ;3  
> Do yall want the next chapter to be from more of klaus's point of view or daves- leave a comment below bbs <3

 

There is not a single person in this world that doesn’t live to achieve a goal. 

 

Some reach higher than others, desperate for a life of fame, money and the fast lane. A few unlucky ones struggle to survive each day, waking up in the morning becoming an achievement. 

 

So with each passing minute, people push and struggle towards their objective, far too distracted with life. 

 

No matter the target, most people fail to do one thing- ask themselves, “what happens once I have what I want?”

 

Dave is not like “most people.” 

 

As fate would have it, he was birthed into a life of success. Anything he desired, no matter how outrageous, was handed to him on any whim. 

 

His father is a well-known business tycoon, reigning over New York City. Every second that ticked by piled unimaginable amounts money into his bank account. 

 

It seems as if there isn’t a soul on the planet who had never heard of him and his otherworldly abilities to manage enormous companies,

 

From the car industry to the food industry, there was no aspect of life his father was not somehow involved in. 

 

However, it was not only his dad who raked in massive amounts of popularity, media coverage and wealth. 

 

His mother was a model, pretty enough to start a war. In her early twenties she had been nominated Ms. America for five consecutive years. 

 

Men became animalistic over this woman, offering anything and everything they owned just to have a shot with her. 

 

Much like his father, his mother possessed an extraordinary knack for business. Their companies differed greatly, as her business was focused on fashion and gorgeous human beings. 

 

By age thirty, her male clothing line had become a billion dollar company, stemming into athletic wear, lingerie and eventually a modeling agency as well. 

 

Victor’s Secret, it was called, with an additional sportswear line fittingly named Blue. 

Somehow these two upcoming stars intertwined and well, David popped out. 

 

From the very beginning he was blessed with fame, good looks and money. While normal people sought these things for decades of their lives and often came up dry, he had everything since his very first breath. 

 

Thus, boredom was a common theme in his life.

 

His parents were well aware of this, leading his mother to take him under her wing. Afterall, their artistic styles complimented each other quite well. 

 

For example, around age eighteen he began modeling for Blue. Personally he would have liked to model for the Victor’s Secret branch, but his mother “would not allow her own company to sexualize her baby boy.” 

 

Dave also aided in management and design. He would scout out future models, plan fashion shows, aid in photography and a variety of other things. 

 

But at the end of the day, it grew tedious. 

 

Nearly every year his father would buy him some customized and overpriced sportscar and his mother would introduce him to stunning men and women, hoping one would capture his heart. 

 

With the same thing happening year after year, he came to find everyone and everything was the same. 

 

The red ferrari he was gifted at eighteen felt exactly the same as the blue bugatti he got at twenty one. 

 

Every potential mate he met encompassed the same type of personality. They walked around with the mentality of kings and queens, believing the world should bow before them. Each and everyone one breathtakingly attractive, but concealing the most dry personality and sense of humor known to the human race. 

 

That’s what caused David to pick up a certain habit. He rarely found himself hanging around upper class areas with the same wealth and same type of people. Instead he frequented more hectic parts of towns with bars and clubs littering the streets that overflowed with intoxicated millennials. 

 

People there were just  _ different _ . They danced like no one was watching, they live like there is no tomorrow. 

 

It didn’t matter if someone told their mommy and daddy they were acting like a slut. 

 

They fueled the party and lived by their own standards, not by the ones forced by the media. 

 

Women were beautiful here, even if they weren’t a size zero. 

 

Men could wear skirts just because they felt like it. 

 

Unfortunately, Dave could not let go the way these strangers did. His family had a reputation,  _ he  _ had a reputation to maintain. 

 

This pressure did not completely annihilate the fun though; he would allow himself to get tipsy, flirt with women who rocked crop tops from a second hand store and dance with men with hips that swayed just as gracefully as a females. 

 

That’s why the second he heard of a new gay bar opening, he knew he would have to go, and he would get there no matter what. 

 

If anything, he could claim “scouting out models” at the bar, which also didn’t sound like a bad idea.

 

**_The Tunnel._ **

 

The name already sounded so alluring, as if it was foreshadowing the wild nights that are to be had there. 

 

He knew that his parents would say something if they discovered his plan to go opening night. Of course, it was not due to any judgements of his sexuality, but rather the “type of people you meet at bars.” 

 

Around twenty one, he began going to dance clubs nearly every night. It was at a club called “Boogie Nights” he met Nadia. A spark lit between them instantaneously. 

 

Their relationship moved fast, like a freight train speeding through a foggy night. For a while, Dave was convinced he had found the love of his life. 

 

That was until, he brought her home. It resulted in a trainwreck, black smoke leaking from the sparks that had once been so beautiful. 

 

A relationship end in irony. 

 

It was not her economic status, profession, or dreams that resulted in her termination, but her personality as a whole. 

 

“David, she’s conceded. I don’t like her,” his mother stated after the girl had left. “She’s not talented either, honey. You don’t want to end up with someone like that. At least find someone with a talent.” 

 

Of course he fought tooth and nail to save the collapsing structure of his romance, but this news was detrimental to Nadia. 

 

Just as quickly as she appeared, she disappeared into a shadowy abyss. 

 

For every painful experience, there were also amazing ones. One woman is not an accurate representation of everyone at the club. 

 

Sometimes he would hang with a group of frat boys from a college near a bar called “Death & Co.” 

 

God they were hilarious, always making jokes and busting each others nuts. For a period of time it was an every night thing, until it became more of a weekly thing.

 

Even to this day, Dave meets up with them at Death & Co. to pop a few bottles. 

 

While every nightclub and bar was appealing in its own way, there was just something about  _ The Tunnel  _ that created this nagging feeling in his chest. 

 

It was clearly the anticipation bubbling deep inside of him. A grand opening would bring flocks of people from all over the city. There would be so many people to meet, so many drinks to be ordered, so many songs to be played. 

 

Dave knew today was December sixteenth, meaning a few weeks until January rolled around. 

 

The excitement seemed to slow down time. 

 

Usually the twelfth month of the year flashed by in the blink of an eye, the upcoming holidays occupying everyone’s freetime. 

 

Later in the month would be the Victor’s Secret Christmas Show, which he usually couldn’t stop thinking about. But just like everything else in his life it blurred together in this repetitive cycle. 

 

It was almost pitiful- these major annual events seemed insignificant compared to the opening of a gay bar. What had Dave become?

 

He concluded that his inescapable boredom lead him to find beauty in average life. 

 

His mother seemed to pick up on his lack of enthusiasm. 

 

“So after Joshua, I think we’re gonna send Daniel down the catwalk. The director and I were talking and we’re trying to mix up the lineup a bit. We’re gonna try to keep the order more randomized, instead of having the muscular boys and thinner boys separated. What do you think?”

 

He could hear his mother blabbing, but his brain failed to process any of the words. His focus was on the newly posted website for  _ The Tunnel _ . 

 

“Yeah sounds great,” he brushed her off.

 

“Dave what’s gotten into you lately?”

 

This caused him to avert his gaze from his cell and onto his mother.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“You just seem distracted lately and uninterested in everything.”

 

He let out a heavy sigh. 

 

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” 

 

_ Sorry I’m fantasizing about a gay bar opening after Christmas.  _ He wanted to say. 

 

As usual the words never came, and his secret remained safe within the confines of his heart. 

It truly is a shame that such well-known and large scale events had lost their magic, the thrill decaying year after year. 

 

But finally a thrill was coming. 

 

Theres just something in wind that feels like the best is yet to come. 

  
  



	5. They Shake Their Bodies, Cry For More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> FORGIVE ME FATHERS FOR I HAVE SINNED. shit did not go as planned and this chapter is already long asf so I decided to cut the scene into two chapters 
> 
> OUR BOYS ARE GONNA MEET NEXT CHAPTER IM SORRY BABIES
> 
> oh also based on the comments a majority of you bbs wanted it from daves POV so this is from davessss
> 
> in all seriousness though, im sorry about the delay. ill make next chapter extra spicy to make up for it <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> klaus: *breathes*  
> dave: oshit im gay as hell

  
  


Time never stops. It waits for no one, it slows for no one. However, sometimes the passage of time is a blessing. Afterall, time heals wounds. 

 

David came to find it healed his wounds: the little scratches of existence that were infected with boredom and never ending recurrences. 

 

Today's date just so happened to be January 2nd. A chilly Saturday stained with melting snow and dull grey filth. No matter where you lived in New York, natures mess was inescapable. 

 

Just for the day, insignificant things like the weather did not matter in the slightest. It seemed as if there was nothing that was capable of placating the reverberating pounding of his heart. 

 

Excitement boiled within his chest, overflowing with bubbles and dripping down into his stomach. A pleasant type of illness. 

 

This newfound sickness casted a layer of grace upon the world. The man was able to see beauty in everything his pale blue eyes encountered. 

 

The dusty puffs within the sky did not signify rain, but rather the silky coat of a newborn rabbit. 

 

The sop spread throughout the roads was no longer a nuisance, but rather a useful burden. Over time it would melt into water, which would trickle down the pavement and into a sewer, carrying the grime it had acquired during the winter. The streets would be clear once again, ready to capture the sun’s warmth. 

 

It was barely five pm when Dave had already began rummaging through his oversized closet, on a desperate hunt for the perfect outfit. It was not out of impatience, but rather prudence. 

 

His closet was more of a room than anything. At least twenty by twenty feet. The crisp white walls were covered in racks and cubbies, stuffed and capped with any attire imaginable. Hundreds of tuxedos, thousands of ties, a hundred thousand shirts. 

 

Going through such massive amounts of dress would undoubtedly take hours. 

 

His usual starting point was a section near the left corner of the clothing vault where a variety of leather jackets hung. 

 

From a young age he was aware that leather suited his body type well. Broad shoulders, muscular arms, and an expansive chest were complimented by the sleek material. 

 

He would probably end up wearing his favorite jacket, a fresh smelling black one with a bit of lace up near the lower back. 

 

Wearing a tuxedo crossed his mind, but his mind was quick to shut it down. He once heard a woman assert through her drunken slurs “Only two types of people wear tuxes to the club. Businessmen and assholes.” 

 

Of course, he could lean on the fact he technically  _ is  _ a businessman, but he’d rather not be instantaneously stereotyped due to his attire. On top of that, he found that any type of formal dress is far too sweltering to wear on a dancefloor of sweaty bodies. 

 

His attire for tonight had to meet certain requirements. It was to be lightweight, but not so agile it would sway with even the slightest breeze. Tight clothing would not do either, restricting his movements on the floor. 

 

It was eight by the time Dave found a satisfactory look for the night. 

 

As the prophecy foretold, he decided to wear his iconic leather jacket. Hell, was he glad he did. The lustrous raven material pulling the entire look together. 

 

A high-quality button up covered his toned torso, a clean white with thin, sapphire stripes running vertically up the plane. Half of it was tucked behind his ebony belt, while the other hung loosely, resting gently against his muscular thigh. 

 

Below the waist he wore a new pair of sky blue jeans which proved to be extremely flattering on his strapping legs. Near his ankles, the denim was delicately cuffed, creating a look of flawless elegance. 

 

Finally, his mahogany oxfords rested gracefully on his feet, tiny black laces meeting to form a wee bow near the center of his foot. 

 

Thank the heavens everything was going smoothly. His fashion choice was exemplary and by some miracle, his glossy chestnut hair fell in perfect waves without any styling, gliding tastefully above his forehead. 

 

Dave grinned at his own reflection. No denying he had a sixth sense for fashion. 

 

His gaze drifted towards the clock as eight thirty neared. He’d have to head out soon if he wanted to get to  _ The Tunnel  _ by nine. 

 

According to Google Maps it was about twenty minutes from his current location. With potential traffic it would be wise to leave a bit early. 

 

Just before the journey commenced, he snatched his iPhone XS off the bathroom counter, the device swiftly unlocked with facial recognition. His thumb tapped the bright yellow Snapchat app, opening it to reveal the front-facing camera.

 

He hurriedly switched the direction of the lense and pointed it at the mirror before him. His finger tapped the glowing white circle to capture the image. 

 

He briefly contemplated what to caption the photo before deciding on:

“Time to find the peanut butter to my jelly” with a peanut emoji next to it. 

 

Now the night was to begin. 

 

He headed out the front door of his condo and into the moderately decorated hallway and eventually into the elevator. 

 

Standing still proved to be a challenge. His entire body was flooded with temptations and anticipation. His foot tapped eagerly on the red carpet of the lift, hoping to ease his enthusiasm. 

 

A delightful “ding” marked his arrival on the ground floor. He made his way to the lobby and up to the front desk. 

 

One of his favorite secretaries, Christina, was there tonight. She sat behind a large, dark oak wood desk, staring at a dimmed computer screen. He strolled up to her, resting his forearms on the glossed wood. 

 

“Hey Christie,” he inquired. 

 

The woman's gaze fell upon him, chocolate eyes meeting ocean eyes. 

 

“Heya Dave! How’s your night been?” she cheerfully greeted. 

 

That was one of the things he loved most about her; she was around his age and always so  enthusiastic about meeting and seeing other people. 

 

“I’m pretty good. Can you have Fred bring the Jaguar out front?” 

 

“Yeah, of course!” 

 

Her lithe fingers reached for the gleaming black telephone, tapping a set of numbers with her neon pink acrylic nails. 

 

“Hey, bring Dave’s Jaguar out front.” 

While waiting the two began to small talk.

“You look great today. You going out?”

 

“Gee, thanks. I’m actually heading down to this new bar called  _ The Tunnel. _ ”

 

“Is that the gay one?”

 

“Christina. It’s me you're talking to. Of course it’s gay.” 

 

This drew a high-pitched giggle from her throat. 

 

A few seconds later, bright white headlights could be seen outside the glass doors. 

 

“Have fun, Dave.”

 

“I will. See you later then?”

 

“Yup!”

 

After thanking Fred, he hopped into the cool leather seats of his jet black automobile and popped the address into his phone. 

 

The drive there proved to be tedious. He just kept hitting every red light, which only agitated him even more. Since when had he become so impatient?

 

Some overplayed pop song boomed on the radio, the heavy and exaggerated bass shaking the entire vehicle, but failed to ease his mind. Freshly manicured fingers lightly tapped on the steering wheel, following the beat of the song.

 

After a long and treacherous haul, he finally heard Siri’s mechanical voice state “Make the next left turn. Your destination is on the right.”

 

Goddamn his heart skipped a beat. Or two. Okay more like three. 

 

He had barely even turned onto the street and the echoing sound of electronic music could already be heard, it’s extremely high volume ricocheting off every piece of matter in heavy waves of melody. 

 

This was it. He had finally made it to this fantastical world. For once, reality was not disappointing, as a matter of fact, the club had already surpassed any of his expectations. 

 

The sidewalks were infested with every kind of person imaginable, the level of intoxication ranging from individual to individual. Men and women were stumbling pathetically, clinging onto anything nearby including their unsuspecting friends and chilled street lamp posts. 

 

The everlasting herds of beings just kept coming from every direction, even with the icy January air stinging their skin. It was as if these people were immune to temperature! 

 

Women walked around in skimpy dresses, lacking any kind of coat or winter gear, men walking in cargo shorts and sandals. 

It was just an entire rainbow of people, which is quite fitting for a gay bar. Feathered jackets, laced up corsets, heels, skirts, crop tops, button ups, tuxedos, multi-colored tutus and any type of clothing or color  imaginable flooded the area. 

 

His curious azure eyes drifted towards the towering building which appeared to be the central area of the crowd. Gigantic, neon lights cut through the darkness, bright enough to dim the stars. The electric letters came together to form two words. “THE TUNNEL.”

 

The street was far too packed with bodies to get a car through, so Dave did the most logical thing and parked a block down. He’ll take a pass on accidentally killing someone with his car. 

 

Even at a distance, the model could hear the drunken exclamations and slurs that were chopping into the night’s atmosphere. 

 

With each powerful step, he stepped further into the abyss of lunacy. The pounding of the rhythm gradually grew in strength, sinking into veins and ratting his bones. 

 

The euphoric sound resonated in his chest, synching his heartbeat with the tune. The continuous noise of spoken chaos drove into his eardrums. 

 

He soon found himself lost in the uncontrollable mob outside  _ The Tunnel _ . Maneuvering through it a struggle on its own. Strangers constantly stumbled into him, blinded by their insobriety. 

 

When he managed to push through the hoard and reach the entrance, a pink and blue hue fell upon him. 

 

The luminescence was multi-colored, layer after layer of blinding tones. Little specks of red gilded across the floor,walls and furniture within the building. 

 

A bouncer briskly asked him for an ID, which David provided, and ushered him inside the heart of the party. 

 

The first thing he noticed was the incandescent disco balls hanging from the ceiling and mirroring vivid waves of color around the space. The rays bolted in every direction, burning across the dancefloor.

 

Goddamn was this club popping. 

 

A dance floor checkered with lurid tiles was covered in sweat bodies, jumping, singing and crying for more. It lay just before an elevated area, where a DJ booth was located, and blasting melodies into the realm of madness. 

 

To the right of this sector was a seemingly more relaxed area, featuring a bar and a seating area lined with leather couches, chairs and charcoal colored tables. 

 

David decided the bar would be his best bet. He shoved past the romping crowds of insanity and managed to land a seat at the bar. 

 

He started off slow with a Manhattan, until he ended up chatting with two young men in drag who had taken seats next to him.

 

The one to his left had a more gothic look, glossy strands of artificial raven hair curling below his shoulders. A silver skull barrette was clipped just above his right ear, revealing the many gold hoops scattered upon it. 

 

His makeup palette consisted of monotone and neutral shades, a smoky eye look painted across his lids. A royal purple matte lipstick coated his full lips, popping out against the array of grey's within his look. He went by Dahlia. 

 

The other man did not follow suit with the goth look, his style much more vivid and flamboyant. His wig was extremely voluminous, its intense lemon tone standing out against

tanned skin. 

 

His palate was radiant compared to Dahlias. Rosey pink eyeshadow smothered his eyelids, warm and vibrant like the crimson color glazed on his mouth. He went by Patricia. 

 

Dave had forgotten how the conversation began, but pretty soon the three of them were laughing uncontrollably about the most ordinary things. Dahlia ended up slurring out some story about how he nearly choked on an olive on his twenty-first birthday. 

 

Round after round, the shots began to seep into their bloodstreams, pumping adrenaline through their unsuspecting bodies. 

 

After around forty five minutes another man, Jeremy, had joined them, bringing Blowjob shots with him. Apparently Patricia was his classmate in highschool or something. The voices around him were barely audible under the shroud of pounding music. 

 

Their youthful endeavors continued for another half an hour until Dahlia ran to a bar on the other side of the club to get Kamikazes and came back absolutely exhilarated, shouting something along the lines of “.... just fuckin walked in!” 

 

He couldn’t hear the name, but it must’ve been someone interesting based on the way Patricia's entire face lit up and Jeremy began to clap in a childish manner. 

 

“You guys down for some Red-Headed Sluts?” David shouted over the resonating rhythm of some obscure pop song. 

 

“Fuck yeah!” 

 

“Get an extra one, that little sluts gonna need it,” Dahlia chucked. 

 

For a moment the model began to wonder if the other three were hallucinating, as he hadn’t the slightest clue about who they were talking about. 

 

“We’d better get to the dancefloor before it starts to pick up. Once he starts the party it’s gonna fill up quick,” Jeremy suggested before standing up and attempting to look through the crowd for someone. 

 

“Who the fuck are you talking about?” The model inquired. This drew a gasp out of the rest of the group who looked at each other in disbelief. 

 

“How often do you club?” Dahlia asked abruptly. 

 

“Um..pretty often?” Dave replied with a hint of uncertainty, mainly due to the randomness of the question. 

 

“And you don’t know Klaus? That’s fucked man.”

 

“Yeah, literally everyone knows him. He’s kinda famous around the night clubs.” 

 

“Kinda? Bitch, he  _ is  _ famous around here.” 

 

“Well fuck me. I’ve never even heard of him.” 

 

“Trust me, you’ll know who he is once we get on the floor.” 

 

With that, Patricia's gloved hand wrapped around his forearm, and the group began pushing their way through the enthusiastic cloud of dripping bodies.

 

After shoving past and colliding hundreds of people, the four men settled at a table, exactly next to the popping dance floor. 

 

From here this newfound location, they had a crystal clear view of the floor and party animals populating the vibrant area. 

 

The overpowering music halted for just a moment, only for a man, presumably the DJ, to announce something about karaoke hour into the microphone, the statement resounding throughout the entire building. 

 

In response, a chaotic harmony of voices from the crowd howled and rejoiced the long awaited hour.  Barely a second later, the deafening bang of pop music had been revived, its unavoidable reverberation ringing in everyone’s ears. 

 

The party had officially begun. 

  
  



	6. REALLY QUICK UPDATE

Hey babies I know I updated quicker for the first few chapters, and I’ll try my best to keep that up.

I just wanted to let you know that chapter 6 will be coming out soon! 

I had planned to finish up today, but work decided to fuck my bootyhole and so I ended up working hella late.

This is a special chapter so I don’t want to rush to get it done bc then it will be shit :)

But seriously, I’m so sorry for the wait. Thank you guys for all the love and support!!

Chapter six is gonna be a big daddy ;)

-Soda ❤️


	7. Sweet but Psycho

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ITS  
> FINALLY  
> FUCKING  
> HERE 
> 
> IM SORRY FOR THE WAIT DADDIES. I HOPE it's SPICY ENOUGH.

  
David travels multiple times every year. His financial status allows for such pleasures and opportunities.

He’d seen most of Europe and Asia, experiencing the rich culture rooted in each countries very existence. He’d even seen a few of the Seven Wonders of the World.  
Each trip he took only deepened his belief that this Earth is filled with beautiful things.

When he was seventeen his mother had taken him to the Coral Sea, off the northern coast of Australia, to scuba dive. That day forever changed his view of this planet.

Before his very eyes was the Great Barrier Reef, breathtakingly stunning. Who knew such magnificent creations dwelled beneath the surface?

Vibrant life sprouted within the divine waters, an assortment of psychedelic pigmentation. Brilliant rays of sunlight slashed through transparent aqua, casting fluorescent streaks of white upon the thriving underwater realm.

The variegated divisions of coral and sea plants coexisted peacefully, flourishing together as one. The structures inhabitants were just as eloquent as it.

Millions of aquatic organisms drifted through the ethereal abyss of H2O, their prismatic scales shimmering like diamonds.

If you had asked Dave any day prior to January second, he would tell you the Great Barrier Reef was the most gorgeous thing he had ever laid his eyes on.

However, any date afterward his answer would be completely different.

This new type of irresistible pulchritude had taken the form of a human man. The split second your eyes fell upon him was enough to alter your entire perception of beauty.

Dave had been sitting on a new-smelling leather couch next to Patricia, an ice cold Daiquiri clutched in his left hand.

Across from their current seat was an identical crimson couch which Dahlia and Jeremy were situated on, sipping on Manhattan's and giggling about something Jeremy had said.

He really wanted to know who thought having karaoke at a nightclub was a great idea. God his ears were bleeding at this point. Upon the elevated mesa, in front of the DJ’s eccentric setup, a drunken man gripped a microphone, his unsteady and drunken vocalization piercing through the club’s stereo.

However, most people didn’t handle alcohol as Dave, meaning a majority of the audience was just as hammered as the utterly talentless “performer.” At this point, he was ready to pay this man to halt his wretched attempt at singing.

“Someone needs to go up there and tell that man he sounds like a cat jumping off a twenty story building,” Patricia complained before taking a swig off of some strangers Jack Daniel’s bottle.

“Fuckin’ tell me about it!” Jeremy conquered, creating “dramatic effect” by covering his ears with his hands.

Suddenly, as if God had heard their desperate pleas for mercy, the godforsaken act had ended, allowing some highly autotuned song to take its place.

“Thank _fuck!_ ” Dahlia sighed in relief.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t get too comfortable. Some other asshole is just gonna go up there and slaughter our eardrums again,” Jeremy spat.

“Nah, it’s already one, karaoke hours over.”

“Is it really? We gotta get on the dance floor now. I just saw Klaus over by the bar and he said to meet him there,” the blonde butted in.

“Is he completely smashed yet?”

“No, but he will be.”

With the unanimous decision to join the crowd in their radiating enthusiasm, the four men drowned the remaining alcohol from pellucid glasses and started their exhilarating endeavor.

The sheer force of adrenaline from the mass infected Dave’s body, drawing him into the blanket of carelessness and delirium.

The flashing lights reflected off sweaty skin blurs of color hopping up and down rhythmically to an electronic beat. A choir of voices scream-singing along with the robotic-sounding vocalist.

For once in this tumultuous world, human beings could put aside their differences, forget their problems and be free. Men and women of all races, religions, beliefs, and sexualities breathing in the same essence of recklessness.

This is what is meant to feel _alive._

  
Dave’s heartbeat had broken away from its usual pattern, beating erratically to match the thrill spreading through his nervous system.

At that moment, he struggled to give a damn about anything, from his parents’ businesses to the realization he had no clue of Dahlia, Jeremy or Patricia’s whereabouts.

Instead, he lived in the present, his eyes falling upon the intoxicated blonde woman rocking her body against his, her radiating body heat seeping through her skin-tight silver dress.

Her pale lips yowled the lyrics of a Nicki Minaj song, occasionally slurring a word or two.  
Lengthy strands of golden hair bounced with her lithe body and occasionally ended up in his mouth.

Within this haze, the model had no sense of time. Whether he danced with the woman for fifteen or fifty minutes he couldn’t say. The cycle was seemingly eternal. One song would end and this female’s legs would give out on her, leaving her a drunken mess clinging to Dave’s muscular limbs.

Another pop song would start up, causing her to declare “This is my jam!” and push herself weakened body up to have just “one last dance.”

Occasionally other men and women would join the two in their choppy jig, dragging them onto some other part of the floor.

This was a rotation many of the clubbers had fallen into, each track blurring together and forming a singular murky memory.

That was until he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. Contradictory to their previous movements, numerous groups of people began crowding around one single point of the dancefloor.

Their bodies jumped in place rather than in every direction possible as if they wanted to remain near this specific area. Dave couldn’t help but wonder if someone famous had walked in based on the way people were swiftly pulling out their cellphones.

He made an attempt to distract himself, jumping with his newfound acquaintance. Even as he twisted and shook, a nagging curiosity burned in his mind.

“Let’s go see what’s going on over there,” he spoke into the girls pierced ear before pointing to the ever-increasing crowd.

At that moment she stumbled, her ankle shaking pathetically in her golden wedges. Her body collided with that of another man, who she apparently came here with.  
“ _Michael, I missed_ youuu,” she slurred.

“I was looking for you fuckin’ everywhere,” the redheaded man replied.

“ _I was dancing with Davee_.”

The model could feel the other man’s glaring brown eyes size him up and down.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Dave frowned. What a prick.

“I’m a guy who’s interested in other guys. Fuck off.”

With that, he decided he’d have enough of that girl for tonight. At least she was finally out of his hair.

Now he could focus on more “urgent” matters, a prime example being his burning curiosity as to what had drawn such a crowd in.

Apparently, _a lot_ of other people shared his interest, as now the size of the group had nearly doubled.

Maneuvering through the herd had become increasingly difficult as time continued on its never-ending journey.

With eyes glued on some unknown entity, strangers paid no attention to their surroundings. He had to admit, it was starting to get on his nerves.

“Excuse me!” he would holler, but the obstacle would fail to acknowledge his existence and just stand there. So, unfortunately, he had to physically _shove_ people. Thank god he was a bigger guy. If he was any smaller, getting to the point of absorption would be impossible.

On top of that, people were actually _refusing_ to move, as if their current position and view were far too important to give up.

“Dave!” he heard a familiar voice call to him over the suffocating tune of “Beauty and a Beat” by Justin Bieber.

He turned to his right to see Dahlia, drenched in sweat, sporting messy hair, smeared makeup and flushed cheeks.

“The hell happened to you?”

“Honey, you’re really missing out all the way back here. Talk about a party up there,” he exclaimed through gasping breaths before pointing to the center of the enthusiastic cloud.

“What’s even happening over there?”

“We already told you, Dave. Klaus is happening.”

“Wow, that’s a big help.”

“Chill, big boy. Let’s go over there so you can fucking see for yourself.”

Dahlia began to pull him through the crowd, aggressively bulldozing unsuspecting victims within the multitude. A woman ended up falling as a result of it.

“Do you gotta be that damn _aggressive_ , Dahlia? Calm the hell down!”

“If you even want to get _kinda_ close to Klaus you gotta be rough! People love the guy.”

“Christ on a cracker. Is it that big of a deal?”

“ **YES DAVE. IT IS.** ”

Dave shut his mouth after that one. There was no hint of doubt within the other man’s voice when he made that simple statement. Just by looking around the club you could tell he was right, too.

The bar was nearly empty now, along with the seating area around it, which was completely vacant except for the tiny specks of green light trailing on each surface. Those who had been there prior to Karaoke Hour had relocated to the larger lounge parallel with the dancefloor, which was now flourishing with a mob of partygoers.

As the two progressed on their journey, the DJ grew closer and closer. The convulsions derived from the stereo grew more and more intense. Little vibrations snaked throughout the structure, all things living and nonliving trembling from its unspeakable force.  
The bass became a suffocating shroud upon any other noise as if you were sinking under a sea of sounds.

Unsure where to look, sapphire eyes bolted around the mayhem surrounding him. Initially, they lingered upon his feet, noting how tiny white scratches had disrupted the mahogany gloss on his shoes. It was likely from the thin heel of stilettos stepping upon the smooth material.  
The gaze drifted to the bouncing inebriates surrounding him and the way bodies whacked, jostled and twisted one another. Eventually, it settled upon the DJ, who stood at the head of the herd, jumping up and down and trying to persuade others to join the assembly. Polychromic lights radiated behind the man, presumably the source of the gaudy hue around the room, along with their accomplice, the disco balls.

Eventually, Dave spotted a clearing within the abyss of people but was unable to make out who was inside of it, due to the numerous smartphone flashlights spewing out blinding white light.

Suddenly, Dahlia had loosed the grip on his arm, using both hands (which were in fishnet gloves), to drive two men apart, and bring the open space into view. Little did the model know, that would be his last moment living in naivety.

God, it was like someone had captured lightning within a glass bottle. His heart immediately stopped beating. His lungs stopped breathing. The once overbearing aura of intense color and inescapable booming of the speakers faded into nothing but a dull recollection.

The vibrancy of _The Tunnel_ was nothing compared to this fallen angel, who made the stars look pathetically dim. There was nothing in this universe that could even hold a candle to the beauty of this man.

The Great Barrier Reef was no longer breathtaking; the sunset would never again be prepossessing. The models he had grown up seeing were to be forever shamed, unable to possess the magnificence that is entangled into every fiber of his being.

The graceful way his body moved was unlike anything Dave had ever seen. Others made pitiful attempts to mimic his eloquence with their jerky limbs chopping into the atmosphere, failing to accept the reality that they could never obtain his divine grandeur.

His ethereal movements did not slice into the air but were one with it. His lithe limbs would glide through the expanse, leaving behind trails of seduction and elegance.

There was not an inch of his body that wasn’t drenched in his celestial charm, each individual feature captivating in its own bewitching way.

Unkempt strands of raven hair bounced majestically with every movement, capturing an array of colors within its natural glossiness, serving as an enthralling contradiction to his pale skin.

Oh heavens, his face was absolutely perfect. That mesmeric jawline, flawless nose, and those adorable cheekbones. Who could forget those goddamn magnetic lips, so rosy and kissable, surrounded by charcoal colored facial hair?

But one feature alone was enough to stop a heart completely. Those enticing shamrock eyes, so stormy yet so bright. Nothing in this world could deny the gorgeousness trapped within them. There was something about the way the pine colored rims of his irises met the streaks of emerald within them and twisted together with the wee rays of seafoam green.

Thick layers of grease colored eyeliner were painted tastefully around them. Above his prominent orbs were exuberant black eyelashes that gave them an alluring look.

It was when the previous song had ended and a new began that the swarm roared in approval, breaking Dave from the trance.

He recognized the song as Sweet but Psycho, which is pretty popular now that he thought about it.

Klaus absolutely lit up when he, too, identified the tune and began grinning with the whites of his teeth.

_She’ll make you curse, but she a blessing_

He flirtingly raised his slender arms, placing the backs of his hands against his flushed cheeks, revealing his tattooed palms to his adoring fans. Of course, he seductively twisted his narrow hips in a circular motion, the fur on the rim of his jacket moving along with him.

_She’ll rip your shirt within a second_

Lithe fingers swiftly untied the strap around his waist, which allowed his heavy jacket to fall open and reveal his torso, which was covered by a sheer crop top. He proceeded to run his slim hands down his chest and flat stomach, feeling himself up.

Of course, this drew a reaction from the horde around him, a harmony of voices cheering and whistling.

Dave could really feel his heart begin to palpitate, his wide chest growing tighter with each breath. Maybe he was having a heart attack?

 _You’ll be coming back. Back for seconds_  
  
The performer had may his way to a man who was watching him in complete awe. He clutched one this stranger ’s brawny arms before wrapping it around the thin expanse of his shoulders. His back was pressed against the being’s broad chest, his head leaning back to place soft kisses against his neck.

His hips gently swayed back and forth, the man’s hands creeping down to hold them.

At that moment, watching those soft pink lips gently pressed against another man’s skin, the model felt this tugging sensation in the left side of his torso. His eyebrows subconsciously furrowed while his fists balled up.

An unexplainable hatred for this complete stranger began to boil inside of his veins, an insatiable desire to annihilate him coming along with it.

Oh god. Was this _jealousy? Envy?_

Dave had never felt such things before, and to be quite frank, he found it absolutely terrifying, yet thrilling. You could ask anyone who knew him well enough, and they too would declare he was usually not like this.

How could he be jealous of a complete stranger who got kissed by another complete stranger!? It lacked any logical sense!

But damn, this burning sensation igniting his chest and the way his jaw clenched painfully were utterly inescapable.

Deep inside his soul, the need to do something stupid clawed at the walls and grew increasingly more desperate. It could destroy his reputation….

That was when he decided he had to get away. NOW.

David began his retreat immediately, not bothering to look back, as he knew he would be drawn in once again.

\---

His sanctuary for the night happened to be the men’s bathroom. Pretty cliche, huh?

Soft hands were held under the faucet, cool, transparent liquid running down pale skin.

“Get a hold of yourself, Dave,” he scolded himself through gritted teeth. God, this entire situation was idiotic.

Here he was, a scholar and a businessman, trembling in a club restroom due to a foolish, schoolboy crush. His mind raced, trying to sort out the storm brewing within it.

He concluded the underlying causes of these witless emotions were the fact he had been drinking, mixed with extreme physical attraction. He wasn’t dense enough as to claim he _loved_ Klaus, but it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist to see the way he moved his body was a problem.

Shame accompanied his logic. The shame of knowing he was totally objectifying another human being, the way every other man in the club did. God, even with his fame and wealth, he was no better than your average man!

He pressed damp hands to his warm face, the chill of water soothing his troubled mind.

  
The man briefly contemplated leaving The Tunnel right there and then, eternally abandoning the memory of this newfound beauty. However, he convinced himself to stay with an idea.

Dave decided he would talk to the object of his affection like a normal human being. The only obstacle would be actually getting close to Klaus. It’s hard to even see with all those people standing in the way.

His internal monologue was disrupted when the metal door busted open, a couple clearly about to get it on barged in while placing sloppy kisses against one another’s mouth. Yeah, that was his queue to leave. He’d rather not stand there listening to them fuck. Plus, he’d already been in the bathroom for half an hour.

All that was left to do was shoot his shot with an angel.


	8. Hello Mister, Pleased to Meet You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AHHH I FUCKING LOVED WRITING THIS CHAPTER GUYS. FINALLY MY INNER SAPPINESS CAN COME OUT
> 
> OUR BOYS REALLY OUT HERE HITTING IT OFF :))
> 
> also sassy klaus is like my drug
> 
> i love that shit
> 
> also you daddies really out here supporting me n shit and i cant ever thank you enough, just sayinnn <3

The party infecting dance floor had finally died down. The herd had disintegrated and dispersed into smaller groups who floated wherever the wind took them. There was a lack of excitement, a dead giveaway that Klaus was no longer in that specific section. Or perhaps he left  _ The Tunnel  _ completely. The ladder was unlikely. That angel was really not the type to disappear right after a song. 

 

It was clear he was the “life of the party” type, fully aware of his effect on the pathetic humans that so easily fell under his spell. A dance floor would never be this dry if he was still upon it spreading his celestial magic. 

 

Dave would just have to find him through the cracks within the mob. The floor was the first section to be ruled out. Definitely no beauty queen there. 

 

Unlike the dance area, the bar’s population had grown steadily, the lounge once again filled with spasmodic juiceheads. 

 

Azure eyes scanned the premises. A new bartender had appeared, likely because the initial one had gone off shift. Patricia and Dahlia were among the intoxicated, sipping lemon colored margaritas next to a muscular man wearing a Fallout 4 snapback. Clearly not Jeremy. 

 

It happened again. Those jerky palpitations squeezing within the left side of his chest, the shortness of breath suffocating his lungs. And there he was. That absolutely perfect human being. Smiling away with those pure white teeth, just like he was born to do. 

 

He sat at the bar, a stranger seated next to him basking in his eternal gorgeousness. The man was speaking; his mouth was moving while Klaus was cutely nodding as he seemingly blabbed. 

 

Dave briefly wondered what this dude could be saying that was so interesting. However, after observing for a bit longer it became evident the green-eyed siren lacked any regard for those meaningless expressions. 

 

His sparkling jade eyes would drift from one place to another, laced with boredom. 

When he parted his soft lips to speak, only broken sentences managed to spill out before his “acquaintance” would continue in his never ending blather. 

 

Every once in awhile a look of annoyance would flash across Klaus’s flawless face, only to be plastered over with the usual flirtatious grin.

 

Eventually the man rolled up the sleeve of his plaid button-up and flexed his toned arm. He proceeded to inch his limb closer to beauty at his side, who would simultaneously back away as he did so.

 

Anyone could tell he was trying to make the other man touch it, even as he was obviously not interested in such things.  

 

It was only a short period of time before he cracked, placing his lithe fingers against the toned muscles. He was trying to look impressed, grinning and batting his eyelashes. 

 

The stranger seemed satisfied with this gesture, even with its obvious forgery, and proceeded with his endless ranting. 

 

Was that man blind or something? 

 

Klaus was gradually becoming more and more impatient. It was perceptible even from a distance. 

 

Those swift looks of irritation had evolved into fidgeting with a shiny cap from a beer bottle, and finally stirring his drink with the long black straw, staring the liquid it as if it was a television screen. 

 

Through these changes, the man  _ still  _ continued to talk his ear off and unfortunately displayed no signs of stopping anytime soon. 

 

Well, it was now or never. He was going to talk to Klaus and nothing in this universe could prevent it. 

 

A deep breath. One more. Trembling hands found their way into lucious brown curls, messing them up a bit. 

 

A confident step. A couple more. His heartbeat became erratic in an uncomfortably pleasing way.

 

It stopped beating entirely when he was barely even a foot away from the fallen angel. 

 

Jesus Christ!  Klaus was even more lovely up close. Now, Dave could see the little dashes of gold hiding within the sea of lush green. Or the way his exquisite locks of raven hair curled slightly at the ends. The sleek black polish coating his fingernails. The faded tattoo on his left hand that read “GOODBYE.” 

 

He finally found the courage to move his lips.

 

“I gotta ask. Where’d you learn to dance like that?” 

 

Thank god it came out sounding confident rather than deciding to mimic the way his entire body was shaking.

 

Oh my. Those irresistible viridescent eyes fell upon him, forever disrupting the cycle of time and space. His gaze cut through the darkened atmosphere, an expansive sea of color caught within the confines of his irises. 

 

“Who? Me?”

 

That damn dulcet voice. Undoubtedly the sweetest sound he has ever heard. It’s euphonious melody captivated any who were blessed enough to experience it. Of course. Only vocals like that would be suitable for an angel. 

 

“No. Barack Obama,” the model joked, unable to suppress the childish smile washing across his flushed face. 

 

This caused the other man to adorably raise an eyebrow.

 

“Of course you, silly.” 

 

Klaus let out a chuckle, the warm air radiating from his body blowing the dark liquid in his (surprisingly) full glass. 

 

“Damn. Now I gotta ask. Where’d  _ you _ learn to be such a smartass?” A sly, yet alluring smirk was painted across his delightfully perfect face. 

 

“Ouch,” Dave replied, clutching his chest teasingly. 

 

“Said with love,” the heavenly being replied before placing those prepossessing lips against the palm of his slim hand and proceeding to blow upon it, sending a kiss towards the star stricken millionaire. 

 

A burning blush engulfed the model’s handsome face, pale cheeks becoming toned with a deep coral color. Simple words could never accurately describe the affection bubbling within his heart or the heat igniting his veins. Wow, this is embarrassing. Ocean eyes drifted towards the ground, no longer able to withstand the boy-like endearment trapped inside his body. Klaus was just so goddamn  _ adorable _ . 

 

“Well, I’d say I picked it up from my mother. She could be a real bitch if she wanted to.”

 

“Oh, damn. My father was a total bitch without even trying!” 

 

“Lowkey, mine too. But don’t tell him I said that.” 

 

Klaus actually  _ laughed. _

Dave was convinced he was going to have a heart attack at this point, that is, if he wasn’t already having one. 

 

Absolutely  _ everything  _ this man did was enchanting in some way, shape or form. From the way he threw his head back while allowing those sweet giggles to escape his throat, to the way his knee would accidently slam against the bar, causing it to shake and rattle. The model would never be free again; eternally trapped within his merciless beauty. 

 

The businessmen sat there, hypnotized by that melodic giggle, wishing to remain there until the end of time. But all good things must come to an end. This end, came in the form of another man. Or rather, the man Klaus had been talking to prior to  _ their _ conversation. 

 

Just at the sight of this man, the ecstasy radiating off the seductress faded, that darling smile transforming into a full on scowl. 

 

“I was talking to you, Klaus. You just turned away and ignored me. That was  _ rude _ ,” the stranger spluttered. “I even bought you a drink that you barely even touched.” 

 

“Sorry, I’m struggling to give a fuck right now, Grant,” the other man hissed, somehow still sounding loveable while spitting venom. 

 

“It’s  _ Lance _ . You  _ fucking whore. _ ”

 

Before the model could even process those wretched words spilling out of Lance’s mouth, a flash of pale skin sparked into view, and suddenly sticky drops of coffee-colored liquid were dispersing in open air. A few of the chilled drops fell upon Dave’s leather jacket, but a majority of it ended up seeping into Lance. 

 

A synchronized gasp cut through the rhythm of music. He looked to his left to see Klaus clutching an empty glass, gleaming streaks of rum and coke running down his arm.

 

“Funny that’s coming from a man who tried to roofie me!” By now, his usually comforting shamrock eyes had turned to ice. 

 

Another gasp, this time from Dave as well. 

 

One look at Lance and there was no doubt of the truth. His reddened face had turned sickly pale, empty blue eyes darting around the club. He had nothing to say about that. 

 

“That’s what I thought, you fucking pervert.” 

 

A mere second later, broad shouldered men wearing “SECURITY” vests had the culprit in their clutches, roughly dragging him towards the door. 

Klaus took a deep breath before sitting back down and proceeding to run his bony fingers through semi-sticky raven strands. 

 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he whispered. 

 

“Not gonna lie. That was kinda sexy,” the model confessed while rubbing the back of his neck with a strong hand. 

 

“Well, you’re a kinky one I see.”

 

“I’ve always liked my boys a bit feisty.” 

 

A gentle pink flush fell upon the raven-haired angel, who ended up tucking a wet little curl behind his ear, big green eyes staring at the other man. 

 

“Out of curiosity, how did you know he tried to drug you?” 

 

Klaus perked up at this question. 

 

“It’s gonna sound unbelievable, but it’s also really cool. H-here, give me your hand.”

 

Dave did so with no hesitation, watching while his boy pulled a tiny glass jar out of an inner pocket of his wooly coat. 

 

“Nail polish?” 

 

“Can I paint one of your nails or is that too gay?”

 

“Klaus, were in a gay bar. Are you serious? Nothing is “too gay” in here.” 

 

He let out a quiet chuckle before running the brush, coated in black polish, down one the nail of the model’s thumb. He blew on it. 

 

The other looked at him with curiosity. 

 

“Put it in your drink.”

 

“What?”

 

“Don’t ask questions, you ass. Just do it!” 

 

Yeah. At that moment, David knew. He knew he would do anything this boy ever asked him to, no matter how outrageous. How could anyone ever say no to a face like that?

His thumb ended up in his chilled daiquiri before he swiftly pulled it out to look at it.  

 

“Was something supposed to happen?”

 

The question fell on deaf ears as his conversation partner had leaned over the grab the glass that previously held, rum, coke and roofies. 

 

“Now put it in here.”

 

Right before his very eyes, minty green specks began to appear upon the streak of charcoal. 

 

“Oh my god! Your nail polish is also a..a... ROOFIE DETECTOR?” 

 

“Fuck yeah, it is!”  

 

The two of them laughed together. A deep, yet comforting pitch mixed with a higher, playful one, creating a perfect harmony that eventually faded into a silence.

 

“Y’know, it’s sad to think there’s a need for this stuff,” the businessman thought out loud. 

 

“You’d be surprised how many Bill Cosby's are running around New York nightclubs,” the other responded before leaning over and taking a sip of Dave’s daiquiri. 

 

“I’m sorry, Klaus.”

 

“The fuck are you sorry for?” 

 

A sea of deep blue met a sea of sparkling green. 

 

“I’m sorry men treat you the way they do.” 

 

Utter shock struck the beautiful face before him, his emerald orbs opening wide and lips parting slightly, as if to say something, but eventually closing once again. Really, what was there to say? 

 

“Oh, shit. Sorry I got all sappy on you there. Do you want a drink?”

 

“Hell yeah. As long as there's no roofies in it.”  

 

\-----

 

Dave had no clue how long he sat there with Klaus, drinking and conversing about pretty much everything. Although he was sure about one thing. The time they spent together was  _ magical.  _

 

It was a miracle their conversation lasted as long as it did, as every couple of minutes someone would walk up to his fallen angel, ask him  if he wanted a drink or how he was. 

Patricia and Dahlia were right. He really  _ was  _ famous around here, and for once, the model completely understood why. 

 

Eventually a man came up to the green-eyed enchantress, insisting they dance together. Klaus, being Klaus, of course agreed. 

 

“I-It was nice talking to you….”

 

“Dave.”

 

“Dave. I like it. You look like one.”

 

With that, the angel returned to his natural habitat: the dance floor. 

 

Oh, but the night was far from over. 

  
  



	9. I Will Hold You In the Depths of Your Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GUYS DAVE IS A BAD ASS MOTHERFUCKER CONFIRMED. 
> 
> SORRY the last like 5 chaps have been from daves POV, the next one is finally gonna be from our fallen angel :’)
> 
> WARNING: this chapter contains sexual harassment and threats of sexual assault. i know some are sensitive to that kind of stuff so please proceed with caution :)
> 
> ahh but yall really out here commenting the sweetest stuff and it makes me feel all warm n fuzzy and i just fucking love you guys <3
> 
> ONE LAST THING- i did this from my phone so i didnt have grammarly meaning SORRY IF MY GRAMMAR AND SPELLING ARE SHIT IN THIS CHAPTER

The meaning of love differs from person to person. It depends on where you came from, who you know and the way you live. It is an undeniably strong force that forever weakens those who are vulnerable enough to fall under its spell.

 

Love, in its endless endeavors, ends in one of two ways: happily ever afters or shattered hearts. Still, the very nature of it is unpredictable. Perhaps, this is where an irrational fear of the concept stems from. Some come to find love as a curse, while others find it a blessing.

 

Of course, this open-ended notion tends to affect each individual in diverse methods. It can cause one’s stomach to ache or turn, brewing a storm within the confines of your soul. Soon, this inescapable sickness consumes you.

 

As in every situation, there are the lucky ones. For them, love comes in therapeutic waves, tugging their heart strings as if it were a harp. The sweet tune of their romance radiates inside of them like a warm summer day.

 

David always knew he was a lucky one, in most senses, that is. Fortunately, love happened to be among these sweet treats.

 

The adoration spirling through his veins was comforting and warm. A perfect temperature. Not enough to burn, but heated enough to eliminate the chills threatening to sweep through his body.

 

Half an hour had passed since his interaction with Klaus, yet he still felt the aftershock tingling in his bloodstream.

 

A wonderful ache strung his cheekbones, a result of insuppressible grin that remained painted across his face.

 

His deep lapis eyes, still gleaming with compassion, rested their gaze upon the remains of his boy’s Bloody Mary.

 

That was when he noticed the tiny glass bottle, filled with a shimmering black liquid, slightly to the left of it. Shit! It was his nail polish!

 

Soft hands grabbed the bottle, placing it inside one of the pockets of his leather jacket. He’d better find Klaus before the night ended.

 

At least now he had an excuse- erm..reason- to talk to him without looking desperate. The search for the fallen angel was on once again.

 

This time, Dave was certain the man was not on the floor. When he went off with his “aquatintence”, the party failed to pick up, a dead giveaway he did not remain there.

 

When a swift scan of the bar failed to turn up anything, the lounges appeared to be the best bet. Besides, if worse came to worst he could ask around. With the popularity the other had, _someone_ surely knew his whereabouts.

 

Taking a final sip of his champagne cocktail, the model stood up and hastily threw a few twenty dollar bills upon the glowing bar, noting how the white light seeped through the green paper.

 

“S-sir! Wait!”

 

He turned around. It was one of the bartendresses, who was clearly blushing, beneath the purple hue that befell on her face.

 

“Y-you should um...c-call me sometime?”

Her graceful hand placed a sticky note on the bar top, her digits clearly written on it with black marker.

 

Oh my. Isn’t this a gay bar? Maybe she thought he was bi, which he was, except now he was questioning whether he was bisexual or Klaus-sexual.

 

“That should be a sexuality,”  Dave thought.

 

“Miss, you’re very beautiful, and I appreciate the gesture, but I’m more of a guys kinda guy.”

 

Yeah it was a lie, but a harmless one. He could agree that she was attractive with her long, black hair tied in a ponytail and hourglass figure. There was just one flaw: she wasn’t Klaus.

 

“O-oh! I’m so sorry!”

 

Now her face was as red as a tomato. Probably a bit fitting, since she was handing out her number to men at a _gay_ bar.

 

“You have a good night,” the man stated while giving a little salute with his fingers.

He turned away, never looking back at the humiliated woman. She said something in response, but he didn’t care to hear.

 

The lounge parallel to the floor was yet another failure. One quick circle around the area revealed nothing but strangers. The only noticeable aspect was the couple situated on a crimson couch, getting a bit too “touchy feely” for Dave’s liking. He really was _not_ interested in seeing where that was going. At least have some decency!

 

The search had already consumed about twenty minutes of his time when a lead eventually came through.

 

Jeremy was seated on a black leather couch in a close vicinity to the bar, attempting to swallow a blowjob shot while a group of unfamiliar faces cheered him on.

 

Even with the support, the man ended up failing miserably, a majority of the shot ending up on the black tile beneath his Vans.

 

“Davey! The hell you been up to?”

 

The model smiled politely, before cutting to the chace. Enough time had already been wasted on pointless conversation.

 

“Have you seen Klaus at all in the past hour?”

 

“The really thin guy with green eyes?” A female to Jeremy’s left had butted in. She tucked a dry-looking strand of neon orange hair behind her ear.

 

“Yeah. Have you seen him?”

 

“He might have left, to be honest. I saw him like twenty minutes ago with some stereotypical frat dude who was all up in his shit.” The woman shrugged before taking a swig out of a Corona bottle.

 

David tried to ignore the way his stomach dropped and twisted painfully. That certainly wasn’t good. He really hoped his internal panic was not displayed on his face.

 

“Where’d you see them?”

 

“Corner lounge.”

 

That was more than enough intel; a location, time frame and potential suspect.

He nodded his head in acknowledgment, leaving behind the group and their offer to buy him a drink.

 

His journey to the left corner of _The Tunnel_ had begun. It was definitely the most secluded area of the club, tucked away peacefully to the left of the DJ’s setup.

 

Presumably, the lack of people was a result of no notable aspect in its vicinity. The bar lounge had well, the bar. The other provided easy access to the floor.

 

It wasn’t exactly _barren_ , but there were numerous empty tables and a variety of smaller groups dispersed around the low-density section.

 

However, there was one large group gathered around the only couch within the area. Dave was never very superstitious, or faithful in that “sixth sense” type of belief system, but the bad vibes radiating off the biggest group were undeniable.

 

As it turned out, orange-haired woman was perfectly on point with her observation of the “stereotypical frat boys”.

 

There they were, right before his very eyes. God, there had to be at least eight of them, dressed in a similar manner. Expensive cargo shorts, designer polos and obnoxious snapbacks, even in this twenty degree weather.

 

His suspicions of their substandard behavior were confirmed when was about ten feet away. The young men were starting to get rowdy, laughing almost maniacally at some unknown source.

 

It was in that moment, disgust struck him like a harrowing bolt of lightning, crippling his nerves, igniting inside his throat and chest.

 

The pack of wolves surrounded _his_ baby boy, who was evidently drowning in distress. The enticing flames within his emerald eyes had grown into an uncontrollable chaos, searching desperately for a savior they believed would never come.

 

“Give it back!” the angel cried out pathetically. “I-I’’m serious!”

 

Even in its sweet reverberation, his voice was laced with fear and discomfort. He stood before a horrible beast, its grin entangling with insanity. Within its clutches was a wee plastic baggy, filled with sky blue pills.

 

This _animal_ had obvious physical advantages over Klaus, who was extremely slim and slightly below average height. His opponent was brawny and well over six feet, providing him with the opportunity to dangle the plastic bag in front of panicked shamrock eyes, before lifting his arm to prevent the smaller man from snatching it.

 

Green eyes made an attempt at the desired object, the man throwing it to another barbarian on the opposite side of their animalistic circle. Of course, their prey chased the bag in its continuous trail around the hellish ring.

 

It was a sickening game of Monkey in The Middle, the man trapped within the diabolical labyrinth pursuing the pills like a puppy would its tail.

 

“Please give it back. Please I just really...please.”

 

The speckles of terror that had once served as undertones for his melodic vocals had grown into obvious quivers within each spoken word. His pitch had risen to a higher octave, a compliment to the layer of liquified glass casted over his viridescent eyes.

 

“C’mere, sweet cheeks, no need to cry,” one of the brutes teased through his fiendish howling.

 

“Just give them back... _please.”_

 

“Fine, we’ll give em’ back, baby doll.”

 

The man currently in possession of the bag held them out towards their chosen prey, shaking it a bit, as if to tempt the other man.

 

The tenseness in Klaus’s shoulders visibly lessened, although his indecisiveness was understandable. His gaze locked onto the bag, and he cautiously took a step forward, clutching the furry seams of his black jacket.

 

Boney hands warily reached for the prize, slow and steady. His fingers inched closer, trembling in their resolve.

 

Unsurprisingly, the swine swiftly pulled the bag away before the other could grab it.

 

“What the fuck?”

 

The monstrosity smirked at his victim’s growing frustration.

 

“Give me a blowjob and we’ll give them back.”

 

Another wave of cruel laughter washed over the sadistic herd in an unanimous decision to rob Klaus of all he had.

 

It was like night and day, the way the soft pink blush on the angel’s face had turned to an icy white.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“If you want your precious little pills, get on your knees for me.”

 

That was enough. In fact, far more than enough.

 

David would die before he allowed any of those barbarians to lay a finger on such a perfect human being.

 

“Klaus!” he called, only to be shocked that his own voice had reached such a deep octave. His chest naturally began to puff up, his muscular body tensing.

 

Those irresistible eyes shot his way, suddenly sparkling with hope. Relief radiated from his lithe body, his jade orbs silently screaming “Help me.”

 

Of course the wolves had also taken note of him, heads turning nearly in unison. Glances were shared between one another, even in their attempt to pose as a threat.

 

“Oh? Who’s this?” a blonde beast questioned, wild coffee eyes sizing up the model.

 

He completely ignored the stares, roughly pushing his way into the libidinous ring and bee lining for his boy.

 

Gently, Dave grasped Klaus’s gaunt wrist, his lapis eyes speaking for him. “I’ll protect you,” they said.

 

“Who the fuck is this?” An unknown animal growled from within the pack. Glares seeped through smooth skin, the circle gradually shrinking in size, closing in on them.

 

“My boyfriend.”

 

This drew a deep, nefarious chuckle from the beast who remained in possession of the beloved “asthma” capsules. He took one threatening step forward to meet David’s death glare.

 

For a brief moment the two stood face to face, hot breath burning with rage tingling each others skin. The model was fully prepared for battle, armed with insults and his fists, however a fight was not the priority: getting his angel out of there was.

 

“Our ride is here. We’re leaving,” he spoke to the young Adonis at his side, who nodded in absolute agreement. He slightly tightened the grip on the other’s wrist, before taking two steps to the left. However, two of the monstrosities had blocked their path, large hands threatening to push them back into the pack’s shackle.

 

“He’s not going anywhere, pretty boy,” a brunette warned with his drunken slurs, before looking directly at the Belle of the ball.

 

Dave felt Klaus hold him tighter, his embrace so tight it was borderline painful.

 

“Then neither am I.”

 

It was a simple statement of fact, yet it doubled as a threat. Only a fool would leave someone alone with group of predatory debauchees.

 

“ _Ohhh._ I see. You’re one of _those_.”

 

The model’s eyebrows furrowed, yet his unyielding glower remained painted on his handsome face.

 

“One of what?” He spat, voice uncharacteristically aggressive.

 

The fiend leaned in, his mouth aligned with the businessman's pierced ear, clearly about to whisper some unpredictable statement.

 

“You’re one of those guys who like to sit in a corner,” he muttered before allowing a chuckle to escape the deep confines of his throat.

 

“And watch while other men take turns fucking your bitch.”

 

In that moment, all David could see was red.

 

Just the thought of their wretched claws against Klaus’s pale skin, leaving scratches in their wake was enough to set the entire world ablaze.

 

His blood boiled with resentment, fury taking his common sense as a captive.

Rage had seized his body, throwing a balled fist against the cartilage of the beast, a crack slicing through the open air.

 

It was a beautiful sound, even with the acceptance it would never match the magnificence of that angel’s laugh.

 

His limbs seemingly moved on their own, apprehended by animosity. His clouded mind barely perceived the men attempting to pry him off _his_ prey, or the piercing screams that echoed over the music.

 

It was inevitable, and the anger gradually began to smoulder, reality gradually becoming clearer and clearer. Now he felt the toned arms of security guards ushering him out the door and into the chilly abyss of winter.

 

However, the realization that he had lost complete control was not the scariest of its kind, but rather, the realization that he fought to protect a man he barely even knew and felt no shame about it.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	10. Put Down the Keys, Baby Why Do You Have to Leave?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SORRY THIS TOOK FOREVER AGAIN BABIES. I've just been super busy with LIFE and work. this is finally a look into klaus's opinion on davie :')
> 
> i love all yall so much and i apologize that im depriving a village of their idiot :( AKA ME
> 
> sorry if the last bit of this is lowkey trash Ive just been working on this chapter for a while and just wanted to fucking finish it LMAO
> 
> ALSO THE NUMBER AT THE END I PUT RANDOM NUMBERS SO IF YOU CALL IDK WHO THE FUCKS GONNA ANSWER LMAOOOO maybe ill change it to like pizza huts number or something

 

It is not uncommon for consecutive days of suffering to merge together into an undefined blotch of grey. As time pursues its unreachable goal, transforming the future into the past, this insatiable patch of tenebrosity devours each passing second. Its excessive feasting disables one’s mind, hindering the ability to perceive a days passage. Even the most vibrant of consciences can be degraded into a labyrinth darker than night itself.

 

Grey is a cruel color by its very nature with its ability to absorb even the most vivid of colors. 

It is a result of too many favorable colors existing on a plane of existence. For example, if seven swatches of wet paint were aligned in the pattern of a rainbow and forcibly mixed together, a monstrosity would form. If you were to pour a drop of yellow paint upon a grey swatch, the ladder would win. 

 

It was a cruel fact, that David, in his infinite vigor, would dissolve into the fatalistic abyss of Klaus’s life. It was not that the man desired such an end, but rather, that he found it inescapable. 

 

Like a stroke of luck, the model had appeared out of nowhere and foolishly fallen for a misfit. 

Oh heavens was Klaus charmed by his beauty, his kindness and unfortunately, his vulnerability. Perhaps this attraction could explain his inability to control himself, and its prominence the fateful night the two men had met. 

 

Logic demanded he abandon  _ The Tunnel _ for all of eternity, prompting him to forget the smoldering memories of this kind stranger. 

 

In contrast, the ache within his chest cried for more, enticed by the idea that the sweet melody of David’s very existence could be captured by even a broken heart. Fear and aspiration clashed, the desire to love and the desire to run simultaneously coursing through his veins. Being unable to choose perpetually paralyzed the addict. 

 

Why couldn’t he stop himself from frantically searching for the other man? 

 

Each sorrowful step he took into the boundless expanse of white sparkles intensified his longing to be held by those strong arms or entrapped in the radiance of his oceanic eyes. 

 

“Dave?” his voice called into the neverending stretch of drunken beings, wandering the tract without purpose. 

 

It was a moment later, the impossible happened. Klaus had finally caught a break- there  _ he  _  was, perfectly manicured hands wiping shiny specks off his leather jacket. His eyes shot back towards the club, seemingly mourning, before he started down the block. 

 

“W-wait!” Hargreeves exclaimed, the snowflakes trembling in the wake of his warm breath. 

His thin legs seemingly moved on their own, propelling him forward in quick steps, as if they were unable to part with those distant memories inside  _ The Tunnel _ . 

 

Dave perked up at his call, turning around to meet his magnetic stare. He momentarily postponed his journey, giving the other man time to reach him. 

 

Oh the things Klaus wanted to say! The things he  _ would  _ say if his tongue wasn’t in shackles. 

The other man would just have to break the silence. 

 

“Klaus? Are you okay?” His dreamy voice sounded genuinely concerned, harmonious with the sympathetic look casted by his azure eyes. 

 

Something within the junkie’s chest tightened, suffocating his burnt lungs in a merciless grasp. 

He hadn’t been asked that question in....years. The established cycle of his dismal life never permitted such questions. Instead, it was always “Are you high again?” or “Are you ever going to learn?”

 

What does it feel like to be  _ okay _ ? What does it even mean? How does one answer that?

 

He decided he wouldn’t. 

 

With his tongue finally emancipated he could form coherent words, encouraging him to speak. 

 

“Are  _ you  _ okay?” 

 

Lean fingers made their way towards the model’s chiseled jawline, their very tips brushing against the bruised flesh. 

 

Dave’s endearing gaze drifted to where Hargreeves’ pale skin met his own. A mere second later, his delicate hand had embraced Klaus’s, gently removing it from his well-favored face. 

 

“If you’re okay, I’m okay.” 

 

A reassuring smile accompanied his reply, like a ray of sunshine melting the junkie’s internal walls. He felt his cheeks ignite, thankful the mournful grey clouds had shrouded the exposing moonlight. 

 

“Do you need a lift home?” 

 

Green-eyes shrugged, his self-critical conscience reminding him that  _ home  _ was non-existent. 

Is there anything more humiliating than admitting that? Probably not. 

 

“I’m-I’m, uh, not going home yet.”

 

God, he sounded _pathetic_ , the way his pitch grew high and squeaky, then worsened with the stutter. Since when did he have problems talking to men? 

 

“Well...i-if you’re interested, I was gonna head down to this bar called Death & Co. You can come. O-only if you want though.” It would appear the other had also developed problems talking with men. 

 

It really was strange, the way uncertainty could lace his voice, he could stutter, and still have an aura of confidence. Dave was staring at the snow-covered sidewalk, likely a failed attempt to hide the obvious crimson sheen that had fallen his handsome cheekbones. 

 

“I’d love to,” Klaus answered before reason could attempt to halt it. He knew he should’ve said no, but his mouth had betrayed him, deciding to follow his heart instead of his brain. 

 

Oh, the way the model’s head shot up! He looked ecstatic. He looked like a child whose mother just agreed to buy him a rainbow lollipop. He looked... _ beautiful. _

 

“Where's your car?” 

 

The question broke the other man out of his star-struck trance, his body jerking momentarily as he snapped back into the icy abyss of reality. 

 

“A block or two over. Too many drunks on this one,” he answered before a deep, captivating chuckle escaped his soft lips. “My dad would kill me if I came home with the windows bashed in.”

 

“Makes sense,” the junkie answered while tying the leather strap of his furry jacket around his thin waist. He released a faint huff, observing as his breath took shape within the frozen air.

 

“Shall we be of then?” 

 

Hargreeves nodded in agreement, before reaching into one of his deep pockets and retrieving a pack of cigarettes along with a translucent pink “crackhead” lighter. The nicotine-filled cylinder was placed between his rosy lips, both hands rising to his pale face. One to block the wind, the other to ignite the drug. 

 

“Yikes,” the other commented. “You’re a smoker?” 

The addict took a heavy drag from this cigarette before releasing the injurious gas into the frigid winter atmosphere. Dave’s question fell upon deaf ears.

 

“You’re destroying your lungs with that shit, Klaus.” 

 

God, he was starting to sound like Diego with the neverending “drugs are bad” lecture. The addict breathed out a loud and exaggerated sigh. 

 

“It helps with my stress, okay?” His statement came out sounding far more annoyed than he actually was.

 

“ _ If you think nicotine is the worst thing I’m putting in my body just wait until you see all the drugs I take,”  _ the man thought to himself. 

 

To his surprise, the model backed off after that, deciding to continue his journey to his car. The other followed, cigarette dangling loosely from his sweet mouth. An awkward silence seized them momentarily, prompting the model made a quick attempt at small talk.

 

“Can I ask how old you are?”

 

“Twenty-five. How about you?” 

 

“Twenty-seven. I’ll be twenty-eight in June.” 

 

“Oh. I just turned twenty-five in October.” 

 

“You lucky bastard. Your birthday is in spooky season.” 

 

“Spooky season?” 

 

“Yeah. Y’know, October’s got like Halloween and all that stuff.” 

 

“Ah, yes,” Klaus sighed dreamily, as if recalling pleasant memories. “Halloween, hayrides, sweaters, Pumpkin Spice Lattes, anal sex in cornfields. All that good shit.”

 

The model let out a hearty laugh before chuckling.  “One of those is not like the others.” 

 

“Yeah, I guess Pumpkin Spice Lattes aren’t as fun as the rest.” 

 

The resonating ring of David’s giggle sliced through the numbing aura of stillness, like the euphonious chirping of the morning birds. 

 

“Oh, shit, my car’s right over there.” 

 

Hargreeves’s gaze followed the length of the model’s muscular arm. No way...

 

This dude was actually pointing at a fucking  _ Jaguar.  _ Sleek and jet black, its coat of paint capturing multi-colored rays of vibrancy. 

 

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” 

 

“Nope. It’s a Jaguar F-Type R-Dynamic.”

 

“Who’d you have to kill to get your hands on that? Goddamn..” 

 

“I saved up for it. Took years,” the other man explained casually. He strolled over the his luxurious machine, fingertips brushing against the icy metal of its hood. 

 

“Why the fuck are you driving that nice ass car in this shit weather?” the addict thought out loud, looking at the other with a questioning stare.

 

“Just incase I met someone at the club that I wanted to impress. Guess it worked out pretty well then?” 

 

Oh god, there his heart went, skipping a beat once again. Unlike the road outside of  _ The Tunnel _ , this one was well-lit, the merciless streetlight exposing the intense red blush that had befallen his cheeks. 

 

“Y’know you don’t need a fancy car to impress me,” Klaus admitted, although the sentence came out more as a mutter, rather than a clean cut statement. Afterall, he grew up in a house with nothing  _ but  _ fancy cars and immense wealth. The Hargreeves had plenty of money, but lacked affection for one another. 

 

“So are you just gonna stand there and potentially catch pneumonia or are you gonna get in?”

The question snapped Number Four out of his dark recollection, his gaze falling upon his newfound love. 

 

What a gentleman, he was, standing at the passenger side of his extravagant automobile, opening the door with eloquent grace. Dave, in his vulnerability, stood there oblivious to the fact of how amiable his gesture was. 

What a shame it is, that he would never be aware of the fact he was the only person in this entire world to hold a door open for Klaus, the boy who had every door slammed in his face since the moment of his birth. 

 

So there he was, sitting in a one hundred thousand dollar vehicle next to an actual angel. 

 

“Are you sure you’re okay to drive? You were drinking.” 

 

In all honesty, the addict usually wouldn’t care, he would be the one encouraging the operator to drive faster. This time was different, though. It was not out of concern for his own life, but rather the other man’s. 

 

“Yeah, I have a high tolerance, plus most of my drinks didn’t have a lot of alcohol in them. I won’t get us killed. I promise.” He held out his pinkie, encouraging the junkie to intertwine it with his own, who did exactly that.

 

“Hello.”

 

Hargreeves blinked in confusion. 

 

“Um, what?”

 

“Your tattoo. I noticed the one on your left hand said “Goodbye” and I finally figured out the other says “Hello.”

 

“O-oh! Yeah, I got them on my eighteenth.”

 

“I like them. They’re cute.” 

 

Cute? He hadn’t heard that one before. People tended to describe them as cool, creative or strange, but never cute. 

 

“Do you have any tattoos?” 

 

“No, but I wish. I can’t get any though. My job won’t really allow it.” 

 

“That sucks nuts.” 

 

Dave chuckled in response while placing the gleaming silver keys into the ignition and giving them a firm turn. The jaguar’s engine roared to life, cutting through the deafening silence like a beast’s cry of injustice. 

 

“I’m surprised your workplace lets you get away with that,” the other confessed.

Oh. **OH.**  So Dave was under the impression he was a normal, functioning adult. Not a drug addict and part-time hooker. Little did he know his “clubbing” attire was also his work, casual and formal dress. 

 

“I’m a barista, so no one really cares,” he lied through a falsified grin, which served as a mortifying facade to cover his festering shame. 

 

“That must be nice. I’m involved in a few small businesses so I have to look professional,” the model disclosed, clearly not about to get into detail. 

 

“What's this place called again? Dead Company or something?” 

 

“We’re heading to Death & Co. It’s not really your type of bar, I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it.” 

 

“Is it filled with raging heterosexuals or something?” 

 

“Christ on a cracker, no, Klaus. It’s just pretty laid back, you know? Like the people in there think dancing is standing in one place rocking back and forth.” 

 

“You sure I’m not too  _ wild _ for this place, Davey?”

 

“I think it needs a little something to jazz it up every once in a while.” 

 

Like clockwork, they pulled up to Death & Co. just as their conversation came to end. It was definitely a secluded bar tucked away on a side road surrounded by a herd of towering pine trees. The lighting inside casted a warm golden hue upon everything, a very tranquil environment overall. 

 

This bar was the opposite of  _ The Tunnel  _  in every aspect imaginable; from the music choice, customers, location and ambiance. In a sense, the dynamic between the two places was quite a parallel to Dave and Klaus. 

 

Klaus was untamed, full of life and down right disastrous. Flamboyant, radiant and careless, causing him standing out in any crowd. David was far more easygoing, relaxed and logical. Order is a common theme in his life, allowing him to blend into a group easily. But he was far from boring- fun just came in more subtle waves.

 

Somehow, they both came to appreciate the differences between them. 

 

Hargreeves found an unexpected fondness of Death & Co, even in its subdued nature. A truly  pleasant experience, being able to hold a conversation without interruption every few minutes. Perhaps his favorite part was the lack of animalistic men. Hands were not wandering too close to his groin, drinks were handed directly to him, cutting out the possibility of getting drugged. 

 

So there they were; the two that had struggled to even steal a moment alone at  _ The Tunnel,  _ conversing among themselves, lighthearted and untroubled. 

 

The addict came to find that it really  _ was  _ possible for time to break from its consistent speed and propel the present into the future at an alarming rate. Time really did  _ fly.  _

 

It soared the same way his heart did that night. The unexplainable ache in his chest, the longing to touch and feel someone else... it was so powerful and thrilling. 

 

“Yeah! So that’s the story of how I licked a battery to get pubes.” 

 

“I can’t believe your brother thought of that. It’s-it’s pure genius!” 

 

Their laughs met to create an affectionate harmony. 

 

That was when a low hum was emitted from David’s pocket. He sighed in annoyance.

 

“Pick it up, Dave. I don’t mind.” 

 

“My family is always all up on my dick. Like, fuck off,” he whined while running fingers through his thick locks. However, he still proceeded to reach his gentle hands into his leather jacket and retrieve his iPhone XS.

 

One glance and the color drained from his face, leaving him pale as a ghost. Even the coral blush that had been on his cheeks faded. “Oh, shit, Klaus, I gotta go. One of my mom’s stores just got robbed. She called me like ten times, she’s freaking out.” 

 

Not even a minute later he had retrieved his wallet and thrown a wad of cash upon the glossed oak bartop. 

 

“ _ I don’t want you to leave,” _ the addict wanted to cry out, but all that came out was, “Oh, fuck.” 

 

The model’s panic was radiating off his god-like body, his movements becoming rushed and clumsy. “I-I had a great time tonight. Here-uh, you should call me.” 

 

His azure eyes shot around the room rapidly, as if looking for something. The man resorted to reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out a Bic pen along with small card and slamming it onto surface before him. 

 

Nimble fingers raced to scribble down a name and number on the paper, not bothering to flip it over until he had finished writing. 

 

“Ah fuck, this is my business card. Don’t call the one printed on there. Call the one I just wrote. That’s my cell.” 

 

“I don’t have a pho-” 

 

“Be safe, Klaus. I’m sorry our night had to end like this.” 

 

The man nearly ran out the door, leaving a still very shocked Klaus sitting there with the inescapable emptiness that had filled his chest. 

 

His gaze drifted down towards the little slip of paper. 

 

“David A. Seterdahl. 312-543-2149”

  
  



	11. Green, Green. I Can Tell that You Must Hate Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO I DECIDED TO TRY SOMETHIN A LIL DIFFERENT THIS CHAPTER.  
> i thought it would be kinda cool to show both klaus and daves pov in one chapter, so um basically the "X" indicates its switching. 
> 
> please let me know if you like this format or if you want me to continue with the one pov per chapter thing. leave a comment babies. i care about what yall think. 
> 
> this chapter is a quick look into the days after their initial meeting. our poor boys :(

It had been three days since Klaus had last seen Dave. The dread engulfing the left side of his chest had never left, remaining there ever since the model had run out the door of Death & Co.

 

If you asked, he would swear that there was magic in the air that night, forever changing the course of history. It was a fragile type of charm, as brittle as a pastry, that shattered to a billion pieces when the other man had bolted out the door.

 

That was the exact second their enchanting encounter had splintered, the foolish belief that he was actually _important_ collapsing with it. With no man by his side, Hargreeves had devolved to his usual disposition: a purposeless addict alone at a bar.

 

God, he felt like an absolute moran. Was he really dumb enough to believe the early morning hours of January third would lead up to some cliche romantic gesture?

 

Of course, that day had ended just like all others: incessant hours of strolling the lonely streets of New York City. No hands to hold, no feelings to be confessed, no sexual tension succumb to.

 

His pessimistic inclination suggested the other man had lied about his mother’s shop, creating an excuse to leave. Hope made a pitiful attempt to fight back, recalling the panicked look that had washed over his face after receiving the call.

 

Then, there was the supposed number. He wrote “David A. Seterdahl” which matched the name printed upon the card. There was no guarantee the cellphone number was actually his, leaving curiosity drifting in the open air. Maybe it was the number to Dominoes or something.

 

Last night, he nearly surrendered to his smoldering curiosity, wandering to a payphone and dialing the digits scribbled upon the card. It rang a total of one time before he slammed the glossy black phone back on the receiver.

 

Ignorance is bliss. Number Four decided he’d rather not know.  

 

To prevent any further witless behavior, he ended up strutting to the library to check out his siblings’ social media. It had been a while since he’d done so, plus, any distraction was welcomed at this point.

 

So there he was, blankly staring at the Google Chrome homepage. Emaciated fingers lingered over the little plastic keys until deciding to type “www.facebook.com.”

 

The mouse hovered over the search bar, which had now been filled in with “Diego Hargreeves.”

 

Oh. He had changed his profile picture. Previously it had been a basic mirror selfie in some bathroom that was not in the Hargreeves Household. Now it was a photo of him and his cop girlfriend at some notably fancy restaurant. He really did look _happy,_ for once, rather than displaying his usual bitter demeanor.

 

A majority of his page was covered with photos and videos of either him, Eudora Patch, or the two of them together. Except, he posted a “Christmas 2018” album just a few months ago. Hopefully, it was more unique than the rest of his content.

 

Well, it looks like the Hargreeves had thrown quite the Christmas Party. Allison and Luther had bought out the other four siblings (not Klaus, of course), after Reginald had kicked the bucket. They decided to move into the iconic mansion to raise Claire. The addict recalled he wasn’t even in the will to begin with.

 

They had made some obvious changes to the damned building, giving it a more personalized feel. It was also decorated for the holiday, a hovering pine tree covered in ornaments and beaming lights making an appearance in many of the photographs.

 

There was one video, about a minute long, which consisted of the Academy dancing to “I Think We’re Alone Now”, in a drunken haze. There were strangers as well, probably people who were prominent in his siblings' lives.

 

Next up was Vanya Hargreeves.

 

A _lot_ of content from the holiday party. She apparently had a boyfriend now, too, who had given her a wooden carving of a violinist for Christmas. The woman had also gotten first chair in her orchestra, an image of her smiling sweetly with her prized instrument accompanying the announcement.

 

Allison’s social media wasn’t very personal anymore. With her superstardom and fame, she had hired people to run her social media accounts, mainly for business and promotion related content. How _lame._ Although, there were pictures from the party scattered here and there, along with some of her daughter- well, technically Klaus’s niece.

 

Ben’s photography account was always quite fun to look at. His art style wasn’t merely based on aesthetic or beauty, as he experimented in other fields. There was an album that was borderline horrifying titled “Cured Images” which consisted of unexplainable pictures of just the strangest things. For example, one of the photos depicted someone pouring Clorox Bleach into a bowl of Cheerios. Damn, the junkie really felt that one.

 

X

 

David had never felt guilt as strong as he had for the last seventy-two hours. This twisting, aching feeling of culpability gradually ate away his stomach and internal organs.

 

Even with a five-star education, he was an absolute buffoon. How could he have just left someone as magnificent as Klaus sitting alone at a bar?

 

Self-hatred was slowly but surely beginning to consume him, like a raging inferno spreading its infectious flames within a wooden structure.  That dear angel was nearly in his grasp, as affectionate and adorable as ever, just waiting to be swept off his feet.

 

And, as it would turn out, the incident was just a textbook robbery of a Blue store in a run-down shopping mall. It was a petty crime and his mother was over-dramatic as usual, but he made the vacuous choice to leave Death & Co. on that fateful night.

 

To make it even worse, Klaus never called. God, he had to be completely _pissed._

 

Just the thought of _his_ boy, sitting in accursed solitude, sipping some cheap beer was enough to flip the model’s gut inside out.

 

He wasn’t even blessed with the benefit of the doubt. If it was a sheet of paper containing only his written number, he could lean on a lie that he “probably wrote the wrong number” but the fact his business number, which he knew was correct, was printed on the card too completely annihilated his white lie.

 

Everything he ever wanted was right in front of him, and he had just let it slip between his fingers, a truth that would forever haunt the man.

 

Klaus was of a completely different breed, his brilliance was one in a _trillion_. There was not a soul on this Earth that could hope to match the radiance of his beating heart that expanded endlessly, dowsing all it touched with a luminous glow.  From those enticing green flames trapped in his emerald eyes to the way his little black booties hung loosely to his ankles, he was completely irresistible.

 

Three days later, he still felt the after effects of Klaus- what did he say his last name was? Something German....

Oh! Krause!

 

Klaus Krause. Of course, his goddamn title was also charming. Although, even in his finite modesty, Dave couldn’t help himself from acknowledging the fact it lowkey sounded like a pornstar name.

 

It was an indisputable fact that he had fallen ill, infected by a deadly disease known as love. God, its symptoms were wretched and borderline unbearable. Living without the other man provoked a suffocating grasp in his chest, further asphyxiating him with each shallow breath.

 

Fuming disease clouded his mind and logical thoughts, leaving him looking for a quick fix. That had come January third, at the first large-scale Victor’s Secret meeting. Models from all branches of his mother’s company flew to New York to educate themselves on this year’s schedule and prepare for upcoming events.

 

Of course, there was a banquet as well, where the collection of beautiful people would mingle. That’s where he happened to meet Nathan, a man who served as a less desirable copy of Klaus. Their body types were similar, both quite lean, but the model’s body held far more flesh than the original.

 

Nate’s wrist was not thin enough to hold between your pointer finger and thumb, the way _his_ was. This boy’s eyes lacked vibrancy, coming off as a pale or pastel tone of green. His hair was naturally straight, failing to curl slightly at the ends the way _his_ did. Their skin differed slightly as well, this man’s having a gentle tan hue within it. The space between his eyes, his jawline, his nose bridge- it all differed from Klaus’s, but held enough similarity to give them a close appearance.

 

The most drastic distinction between the two men was their personalities. Nathan proved to be a mix of cynical, dry, and high-maintenance.

 

“Let’s dance,” Seterdahl had suggested.

 

“I don’t dance.”

 

Perhaps that should have been expected, as not all men are blessed with good looks _and_ wonderful personalities. It would appear Nate only held the first one. God, he was fucking _boring._ He’d sit there, french manicured fingertips gliding against the screen of his iPhone X, blabbing about his Instagram likes, or views on his Snapchat story, as if the number of likes determined your life’s worth.

 

“Yeah. Mhm. Awesome, that’s great,” the businessman would chime in, pretending he actually cared about this pointless and never ending rant. Pretending his mind wasn’t off daydreaming about another man.

 

X

 

This bitter emptiness aching inside of his heart was merciless. Relief did not exist in its recollection, meaning there was no chance of escaping its cruel clutch.

 

Hargreeves hadn’t felt this type of agony since he was a child, a majority of his teenage suffering took the form of physical withdrawal or the lingering side effects of the drugs.

 

But this uncontrollable throbbing within him was _emotional_ torment, the very same kind that he swore to eternally silence with his substance abuse. Oh, how he longed to feel something other than pain!

 

He was broke financially and emotionally, leaving no choice but to perform _services._ Desperate for a high, his fractured body carried his grieving soul to his usual shady bar. It was quite easy to find “clients” in the place, which was teeming with addicts and dealers.

 

Trembling hands gripped the freezing metal doorknob, its frigid temperature burning his pale skin in an ironic frozen inferno. The remaining muscles in his thin arms strained to open the heavy wooden door, a strangely comforting warmth, scented with marijuana, consuming his body.

 

God, _yes,_ he needed this.

 

Out of habit, he inhaled a deep breath, entire body tingling at the desired scent of stimulants piercing his senses. A pleasurable shiver cut through his spine, a sign of the oncoming ecstacy.

He concluded he could find someone at the bar, likely drunk, alone, and as touch-starved as he was.

 

X

 

David had decided he straight up _hated_ Nathan. The man hadn’t necessarily done anything to provoke such wretched feelings, but Seterdahl’s inclination to compare everyone to Klaus only deepened his internal disgust. The model was stuck-up, dull and conceited. It really was true, that an ugly personality could demolish someone’s physical appeal.

 

However, in a savage irony, Nate’s contact was glowing on his smart phone’s screen, the businessman's graceful thumb hovering over the phone logo. That was a sign of Dave’s true _desperation._

 

He was frustrated, empty, and somehow filled with regret. All he desired was some form of pleasure, no matter how shameful it was. There would never be a romance between he and the other model, but a one night stand seemed a plausible goal.

 

That was what prompted him to send a text.

 

“You should come over, baby ;)”

  
  
  
  



	12. He Ain't You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Graphic language in this chapter, along with drug use.
> 
> THERE IS ALSO SEX IN THIS CHAPTER. its gay ofc LMAO but I tried to be mature about the whole thing, its not very graphic or lewd in case you were wondering. I used it as a tool to develop our boys. its unfortunately not between dave and klaus tho :(   
> that's gonna come later ;)
> 
>  
> 
> i didn't get a lot of feedback on the new switching POV style so i just took it as you guys are fine with it? if you aren't please let me know lovelies. any feedback is appreciated though, even if its not about the writing style.
> 
> thanks for all the support, you guys are seriously FALLEN ANGELS

Trembling fingers clutched a filthy glass covered in oily marks and prints, confirming a suspicion it was rarely ever washed. The grimy dish was filled with some unknown type of liquor, its taste becoming distorted due to the streams of salt water pouring from his mournful eyes. A drunken haze had caused everything in the filthy old bar to double, triple or even quadruple. 

 

Klaus didn’t care enough to wipe off the streaks of black mascara running down his flushed cheeks, instead allowing his bitter tears to flow freely. He knew he had one too many; or maybe  _ way  _ too many. Counting was futile after the third drink. 

 

There was a stranger sitting beside him, tall, burly and obviously tipsy. A heavy arm was wrapped around the thin length of the addict’s shoulders which shook violently as he bawled his eyes out in an intoxicated manner. 

 

“They- they all...h-hated me-a-and I don’t even know  _ why _ ,” he wailed in a high-pitched tone. “A-and they w-would laugh at my misfortune!” 

 

The man beside him showed no sign of sympathy or care, merely grunting in response as Number Four wept into his meatless hands. 

 

“I-I never even asked to be adopted or b-born!” 

 

It was a muffled lament, falling upon deaf ears as usual. His incessant gasps for air and senseless ranting stood not a chance against the incredibly explicit rap song booming on the stereo. 

 

“I could make you feel better, sugar. All the pain could just go away,” a deep voice lured into his reddened ear, a calloused hand gently cupping his chin. 

 

Oh, it felt so nice to be  _ touched _ !  

 

A thumb, displaying a filthy fingernail, gilded against his soggy bottom lip in a sick display of artificial affection. “I could make you feel so good, baby cakes.” 

 

Insobriety prompted Hargreeves to lean into the contact, even with the knowledge of its foul intent. His suitors hand had crawled up his face, like a black widow entrapping its prey, emotionless fingers resting upon his streaked cheek. 

 

Cloudy green eyes made an attempt to meet the other man’s predatory gaze, the instability of his vision aiding in his failure. They drifted to different parts of the stranger’s crumbling face, eventually settling upon his chapped and peeling lips. 

 

Stubby grey hairs surrounded a carnivorous grin, a tongue occasionally peeking out to lick cracking lips. 

 

In its eternally agony, Klaus’s aching heart encouraged him to lean in, a pitiful attempt to  _ feel  _ an emotion other than pain. Drying trails of tears clung to his cheekbones as he succumbed to his everlasting loneliness. 

 

Soft, rosy lips met split, aging ones in the hopes of obtaining any sort of gratification. The other man was quick to give in, a sour-tasting tongue pressing past a layer of teeth and invading the junkie’s unsuspecting mouth. 

 

He just didn’t have the strength to care anymore and surrendered instantaneously. His submission allowed this man the luxury of boundlessly exploring the inside of his trap. 

Rough hands aggressively tangled within raven hair, tugging almost painfully. 

 

The lack of oxygen gradually felt like suffocation, instigating a separation. 

 

“You taste just as good as you look.” 

 

X

 

David could feel slender fingers creeping up the back of his neck, intertwining with the waves of his silky chocolate hair. The heavy warmth of Nathan straddling his muscular body was just as prominent, two pairs of smooth lips clashing in a brutal battle. Without a word, they fought for dominance, tongues trapped in a war with one another. 

 

The two men laid upon the off-white leather couch of Seterdahl’s living room, their broken patterns of breathing serving as the only sound. His hand had found its way to the back of the smaller man’s calf, grasping the toned limb firmly. 

 

Klaus’s leg definitely wouldn’t feel like this- probably more sharp and cadaverous.  _ His  _ lips certainly wouldn’t be coated in such a large amount of disagreeable cherry chapstick. There was nothing organic about the product, its flavour resembling a mixture of chemicals, rather than a fruit. 

 

Suddenly, Nate rocked his hips in a slow, grinding motion, breaking the fantasy brewing within his mind. A warmth pooled near his groin, just as it had for the other man, demanding this encounter be taken a step further. Even as pleasure struck his body, it failed to touch his heart, the feeling of vacancy still remaining there. 

 

Their lustful kiss was broken by the guest, whose talentless fingers sloppily hurried to unbutton his silky red button-up. “Get your shirt off, dumbass,” he demanded after noticing his partner’s lack of movement. 

David complied, not even bothering to look at the other model’s half-naked form. He failed to conjure any interest in the other man’s body, expecting it resemble that of every guy he’d ever slept with. Of course, it did. His entire torso was toned to perfection, a six pack peeking through his abdominal area, skin as smooth as an apple’s. How  _ boring.  _

 

Klaus’s upper body definitely did not look like that. That damned wool coat kept a majority of it out of view, but his sheer crop-top allowed conformation that he did not have abs. He was much smaller than this, much easier to hold in an embrace. Without the financial status of a supermodel, he would never be able to afford products to keep his skin as perfectly artificial as Nates. Maybe he even had some sort of tattoo-

 

“Your body is so fucking  _ sexy,  _ Dave,” the other gasped in awe. Soft fingers ran down the expanse of his defined six-pack, before teasingly stopping at his belt. Those unexciting green orbs looked up at him, half-lidded in a seductive manner. 

 

“I bet you’ve got a big one.”

 

X

 

It was far too chilly in this goddamned bar. A series of shivers trailed down his spine as the stranger tucked his skilless fingers beneath the waistband of his black laced pants before peeling them off his lanky legs. They were hastily discarded in some corner of the run-down side room of the building just like his boots and coat had been. 

 

“Oh, wow. I like those panties,” his partner pervertedly purred, icy eyeballs trailing over the garment. If he recalled correctly, he was wearing the leopard print ones, in which black spots had been pasted over a spectrum of green, pink, purple and blue. 

 

“ _ I don’t care if you like them or not. Just fuck me already!”   _ Number Four desired to cry out, yet his body would not comply to his wishes, a soft grunt beings his only response. 

 

The heart palpitations began as wandering hands eventually found the tight strap of his underwear. His mind began to drift away from his body’s indulgence, into some long-forgotten part of his recollection. 

 

He briefly wondered what Dave would have thought about his panties. He could imagine that breathtaking smile and his beautiful chuckling. Surely he would respond with some witty comment or joke…

 

The soft fabric made its way down his slender thighs, over his scraped knees and proceeded to trail down his calves before being flung into some distant area of the room. 

 

The strangers touch was almost dreamlike: it was there, but not really  _ there _ . The feeling was far off, as if he still had clothing on; the contact of skin against skin was surreal and ghostish. 

 

An illusive heat began to smoulder between his legs, which were now being urged further apart. This sensation was freakish- below his torso felt as if it was burning, while his chest felt like it had been filled with ice. His dear old tears had resurfaced, trying to express the abandonment trapped within his heart. 

 

The progression of their sexual contact seemed like a blur, his mind only able to process the way his body began to jerk in a heedless rhythm. 

  
  


X

 

It felt as if the interrelation between his conscience and body had been severed during intercourse with Nathan. 

 

In his bodily attractiveness, the other man had lured him in, yet seemingly only from the waist down. Why couldn’t his mind just yield to the lust boiling in his lower half? 

 

David’s hips had single-handedly set the rhythm of their coitus, snapping in a steady pattern. His body was not the problem: it was his mind.

 

His partner remained on all fours, the only view being the back of his head, which was covered in sweaty strands of dark brown hair. Seterdahl couldn’t stop his brain from seeing it as the back of  _ his  _ head. 

 

In all honesty, he preferred things the way they were. A visual on Nate’s face would only serve as a reminder it was not who he wished it was. Perhaps this is what prompted his denial when the other participant expressed he wanted to switch positions. 

 

The man below him was grasping at the fresh cotton sheets, thin fingers gripping the fabric while a series of incoherent whines, whispers, and gasps that escaped his botox-filled lips. 

 

“F-fuck! Right there, David!” 

 

What or wherever “right there” was, the man didn’t care. In this newfound wave of selfishness, he was hit with a realization: he didn’t care if Nathan was enjoying himself or not. Of course, he would stop if the other man had asked, but his desire to continue implied he was having quite a time. Well, good for him. Dave was  _ not  _ having any of it. 

 

While the other model experienced unseen magic and saw stars flashing in his vision, Seterdahl felt close to  _ nothing.  _

 

There was the hotness that radiated off of his partner’s insides, yet it was not enticing in any way. The sensation was no different than any other time. It failed to produce a profound state of passion and intimacy. 

 

His concupiscence would never be enough to overpower the torment of heartbreak.

 

X

 

This encounter, in its haunting nature, manifested more like a film than reality. One moment you were doing one thing, then the scene would change, and suddenly you were doing something else. 

 

Klaus couldn’t tell you when they had switched positions. A second ago his heels were resting upon the man’s shoulders, now he and his partner were face to face, Hargreeves seated on the stranger’s lap.  

 

He wasn’t totally conscience of his own body's decisions at this point, the belligerent hands squeezing his hips took the lead, guiding him blindly. As minutes ticked by, the ruthless grip on his waist began to lessen, until they had completely released him, falling limply at his sides.

 

What the fuck? There’s no way that could be anything good...

 

A swift look at his partner confirmed the wretched gut feeling that something wasn't right. 

His pupils, surrounded by passionless grey irises had grown dilated, only a thin ring of silver remained. 

 

“H-hey! Are you alright?” 

 

A terrifying silence had seized the room. The junkie found his bony hands clutching broad shoulders, shaking them violently in his desperation. A tremor shot through the motionless body, before white foam began to drip from his drooling mouth. 

 

Number Four nearly ejected himself across the room, panic beginning to course through his polluted veins. This man...had overdosed. 

 

“I need  _ help _ !” the boy hollered, this uncharacteristic rasp framing each word. The absolute terror within his cry must have been evident, as a mere minute later the door had crashed open. 

 

“H-He’s overdosed!” 

 

“On what?”

“Somebody call an ambulance!” 

 

The entire scenario played out before his eyes, like a flash of lightning, intense and fast. The room had suddenly been infested by paramedics, cops and a crowd of curious onlookers. 

 

His clothes had magically found their way back onto his slim body, ushering him to leave this nightmare and never return.

 

X

 

Every man has limits. The build of a human form was pathetically weak compared to the forces and desires of nature. David was about to reach his ecstasy, bringing Nate along with him. 

 

His body pushed on, the intensity of this once-dull warmth had decided to grow in strength, finally infecting his brain with its sweet relief. 

 

“D-Dave, I’m so fucking  _ close _ ,” his partner keened beneath him, meeting his thrusts in a haphazard manner. 

 

“A-ah, y-you feel amazing.. **_Klaus!_ ** ” 

 

It was like the snap of a finger- time, space, air- everything just came to a screeching halt. 

 

“What the fuck did you just call me?” 

 

A sickening guilt twisted within his stomach. Did he really just say that out loud? There’s no way….

 

“I-I didn’t say anything,” Seterdahl lied through his teeth, his ocean eyes erupting like a hurricane. 

 

“You were imaging me as someone else that entire fucking time!?” 

 

The enraged gaze of the other model burned through his skin like hot acid. 

 

“That's not true!” 

 

Oh, but it was. 

 

Nate had snatched his navy lace panties and began sliding them over his legs, clearly not aroused anymore.

 

“Who the fuck is Klaus? Some German broad?”

“Don’t fucking call him that! You spoiled  _ bitch!” _

 

“Fuck you!” 

 

By now, he was half-dressed, his tight black jeans covering the smooth skin of his legs. He angrily paced out the door and into the living room. The other followed. 

 

“You’re a fucking bastard, David Seterdahl!” 

 

“And you’re the most conceited cunt I’ve ever met!” 

 

Nathan didn’t even bother to put on his crimson button-up, simply snatching it off the hardwood floor near the couch, where it had been tossed. 

 

“I’m gonna tell your Mother about how much of a  _ man slut _ you are!”

 

“Go right the fuck ahead!” 

 

The front door slammed, the force reverberating off the walls. 

 

And there he was, alone once again. 

  
  
  



	13. Angel, Angel. He's the Devil in Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guys i had this awesome umbrella academy au idea
> 
> umbrella academy au where all of Klaus's siblings were supportive after he just got tortured and lost the love of his life instead of being all salty and not taking him seriously 
> 
> YEET
> 
> this chapter is lowkey kinda sad :( our boys just can't catch a break OOF. this is only from daves pov, the next one is gonna be from klaus's pov and then ill continue with the switching. This is kinda a major chapter in their relationship so i wanted to give em each a separate chapter 
> 
>  
> 
> i know i always say this but yall really out here saving lives with ur support and amazingness <3 oh also if yall have any klaus or dave headcanons you want to share im all ears and maybe ill incorporate some into the story~

It was January seventh when David had finally given into his festering desire to return to The Tunnel. His intentions were not based upon the club’s atmosphere or the party goers within, but rather his need for information. His facade of stability and order was cracking beneath the pressure of his heart’s infinite anguish. 

 

Somehow, his recollection of the past week had been distorted beneath a shroud of unimportance. Nathan’s touch, his mother’s shrieks after the robbery, the frigid temperature of an aging winter: all resembled a dreamy haze, due to his inability to separate fantasy and reality. 

 

It was that one single night that remained  _ real  _ through this mangled cloud of confusion. His angel’s laugh had become trapped inside his head, its resonating sweetness bouncing off his inner skull. Everything his eyes crossed would mimic the other man in some way or another, then manage to salvage a deep memory from the depths of his reminiscence. 

 

What if’s haunted his slumber, which had lost its nature of tranquility and relief. What if he had decided to stay? What if he had given into his yearning to hold Klaus in a tight embrace? What if Blue had never gotten robbed that night? 

 

Guilt ate away at his insides the following days, screaming and clawing at his emotions, a small price to pay for his stupidity. He lived a life in which he was granted anything he wanted, from cars, clothes, to women, men and drinks. How is it that he could not have the one thing he desired most? 

 

A childish greed accompanied his regret, an uncharacteristic rage coursing through his body. “There are plenty of other fish in the sea,” someone had said to him once. Rapacity had a grip on his mind, its selfish nature encouraging him to declare he wanted  _ one  _ fish alone; that all other creatures within the abyss were incompetent. 

 

Whether it was this or that, exactly what fueled this unplanned trip to the club remained a mystery. Only two things were certain: he wanted information on a certain someone and he had no interest in meeting other men who were not this said being. 

 

The dear old Jaguar pulled up outside the obnoxious edifice known as  _ The Tunnel _ . It was far from barren, but nowhere near the numbers or intensity it had on opening night. To his surprise, the model could actually maneuver his opulent automobile down the block. The lack of drunkards, along with the predetermined plan to not stay for more than an hour had lead to the decision to simply park on the same block. 

 

Stepping out into the frozen tract of winter summoned no emotion within, like it had the last time. Ah. Those precious times of naïvety, completely unaware that he was to encounter an actual angel. 

 

A relatively controlled crowd of vibrantly dressed millennials hung outside the club, remaining close to the door in an attempt to retain the heat radiating from the inside. An estimated twenty people total were visible outdoors, a landslide away from the hundred or so that had dwelled there opening night. 

 

Perhaps all of those strangers had also taken note of the unrestrained men that had been spotted there. Surely the news about the brawl had spread like wildfire, which definitely did not help business. 

 

As predicted, there was no line stemming from the door, allowing him to simply walk up to the bouncer, flash his ID and enter the vividly disturbing environment. There was nothing special about the way overrated pop music suffocated his eardrums, or the acid-like lighting reflected within the structure. It had lost its lure long ago. 

 

By some miracle, a half-assed glance of the bar revealed Jeremy and his orange-haired mistress giggling manically while clutching half-empty bottles. They would serve as his first interviewees of the night. 

 

Dave shoved through the average-sized herd, proceeding to ignore the uncontrolled bodies ramming into his own. There was no time for such insignificant matters, as the never-ending cycle gradually decayed into madness. 

 

“Jeremy!” He shouted through the heavy fog of electronic melody. 

 

The other man perked up at the call, his coffee eyes falling on the newcomer warm and welcoming. 

 

“My boy, Dave! What’s poppin’?” 

 

The woman clinging to his arm also recognized the model.

 

“Aren’t you the guy who got kicked out opening night?” 

 

Well, it was clear the entire scene of partygoers had heard wind of that. 

 

“Yeah, that was me,” he confessed, a profound sigh escaping his lungs. “So everyone knows about that?” 

 

“Hell yeah, man! You’re like a hero around here!” Jeremy chimed in, tipping his beer bottle towards the other before taking a large swig. 

 

“Yeah. Those dudes always cause problems around the bars. They had it comin’” 

 

The conversation was not heading in the direction Seterdahl had hoped, encouraging him to cut to the chase. He changed the subject abruptly, not concerned with his newfound fame or people’s opinion on it. 

 

“How well do you guys know Klaus?” 

 

His subject gulped down a massive sip of liquor, sighing after it had finished burning the inside of his throat. 

 

“We’re more than acquaintances but not close enough to be friends,” Jeremy shrugged. “Why?” 

 

“I….I..uh...I’m trying to find out which coffee shop he works at. I need to talk to him about something.” 

 

A loud, bubbly laughter erupted from the man and his woman, who looked at the model with endearing eyes. “That’s a good one, Dave.” 

 

That was when a twisting nightmare seized his stomach. Freshly waxed eyebrows furrowed in total confusion. What the hell was so funny? Were they drunk?

 

“I’m serious, Jeremy. Do you know where he works?” 

 

The statement brought the couple’s rapture to a screeching halt, a deafening silence filling the open air. An unexplainable feeling of dread was growing within the model, shortening his breath and intensifying his resonating heartbeat. 

 

Concerned glances were shot between the woman and her lover, who pressed prismatic glasses to their lips, sipping their drinks in an uncertain manner. 

 

“A-Are you serious? Like for  _ real? _ ” Orange-hair questioned the stranger, streaks of pity beginning to cut through her cerulean orbs. 

 

“What the hell does that mean? Of course I’m for real. Klaus told me he was a barista. I don’t know what coffee shop though.” 

 

A shameful sigh was pushed out of Jeremy’s chest in response. His burly hands were brought to his temples, fingers rubbing rough circles into the flesh. 

 

“Oh, man. You really don’t know, do you?” 

 

A sickening wave of terror shot through Dave’s body, his bones rattling and muscles trembling. He was beginning to feel physically ill.  What was he unaware of? 

 

“D-don’t know what?” 

 

He contemplated leaving right then and there, choosing to live in ignorance. But, his natural curiosity got the better of him, prompting him to remain in place despite his increasing dismay. 

 

“It’s too loud out here. Let’s go to the bathroom,” Jeremy suggested while rising from the barstool. “Miranda, I’ll be right back.” 

 

It didn’t matter if he felt like a highschool girl heading to the restroom to gossip. It didn’t matter that he felt his skin tingling in trepidation, or that this festering anxiety was tugging at his heart strings. Blindly, he followed the other male to their destination, his conscience far too crowded with “what ifs” to process his surroundings. 

 

A shiny metal door flung open, a clink resounding in the wee tiled room that lay behind it. This environment mimicked the experience of being underwater: an invisible shroud dulled the bass from the stereo, a dripping silence leaked down the walls, a weighty pressure began to build upon his muscular chest. 

 

“Jesus Christ, Dave, there’s no easy way to say this,” the other man huffed out, his body language implying he was distressed.

 

“Just spit it out.” 

 

Anticipation only further agitated the heartbroken man, who had become progressively more uneasy. 

 

“Look, I can tell you right off the bat, Klaus Krause is not a barista.” 

 

Ouch. The revelation jabbed at his chest.  “Well then where the fuck does he work?” 

 

“It’s….it’s complicated,” the other mumbled.

 

“I don’t got all night so you better start talking then,” Seterdahl snapped. 

 

“Fine. I’m just gonna be completely honest with you,” Jeremy caved, his discomfort obvious.

 

“Klaus is a drug addict.” 

 

HAH! That’s funny! 

 

“Good one, Jer!” Dave chuckled, denial coursing through his veins. There’s just no way! What a cruel joke. 

 

“He’s done every drug imaginable. Heroin, weed, cocaine, meth, opium...you name it, and he’s done it before.” 

 

“Yeah, okay,” the model scoffed, his tone mocking and icy. “How the fuck does he pay for it then? His daddy rich or something?” 

 

“Do you really want to know the answer to that question?” 

 

The other man’s voice had grown cold, yet somehow still concerned. He failed to react to Seterdahl’s increasing denial or aggression as if it was understandable. 

 

That statement was enough to obliterate the model’s short-lived fantasy of innocence and purity, exposing him to the harsh reality that plagues the Earth. 

 

“W-what does that mean?” 

 

“You’re not gonna want to hear it, buddy.” 

 

“I want to hear the  _ truth _ .” 

 

There was a moment of silence between the men, the informant’s disappointed sigh eventually breaking it.

 

“Klaus….he...uh….he sells his body for drug money.” 

 

The glass heart beating within David’s chest took a massive blow, the fragile material splintering and cracking. Sounds of the shatter echoed inside his ears, stopping the space and time continuum.

 

“No...that- that can’t be! You’re- you’re  _ lying! _ ” 

 

Cruel logic finally pieced the story together, finding the newfound information fit perfectly into the narrative. How could he have been so  _ blind!? _

 

Addiction would explain his unhealthily slim body; it would explain his constant fidgeting and those damned “asthma” pills! The signs were all there...he had just chosen to ignore them. 

 

“Why do you think he’s so popular around the club? It’s because he’s slept with half the men there.” 

 

Never-ending loneliness had tangled with shock and denial within the great abyss of David Seterdahl’s heart. He had sworn he was unshakeable, yet now he was shaking like a chilly skeleton. 

It just couldn’t be true! Not  _ his  _ angel! Klaus would never….

 

“When you left with him opening night,” Jeremy began. “Everyone thought you were his client of choice.” 

 

“Shut up! This is all just a load of  _ bullshit! _ ” 

 

Why had his vision become blurry with a salty solution? Why was his voice beginning to crack? 

 

“I know Klaus seems like a dream come true, Dave. He’s sexy, he’s charismatic, he’s beautiful. It’s like he was sent from heaven, but-” 

 

“NO! It’s a  **_lie!_ ** I’ll find him myself!” 

 

He’d already started for the door when the other man roughly grabbed his arm. 

 

“Don’t follow him, David Seterdahl. He may look like an angel, but he’s far from it,” he warned with caution coating each word. “Klaus Krause is the devil in disguise.”  

 

The model ended up bolting out of  _ The Tunnel _ , bitter tears pouring from aching azure eyes. It can’t be true….

 

Prior to today, the man hadn’t cried in years, yet the streams of water trailing down his cheekbones broke brought the record to an end. 

 

He’d cry until he had no tears left; he’d cry until he drowned in his own salty lake of heartbreak. He’d cry until he could come to terms with the fact that his perfect little Klaus had deceived him. 

  
  



	14. Sip on this Truth Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay so based on what you babies said in the comments it was clear i did a shitty job of making davids intentions/views on klaus obvious. this chapter will define it better.
> 
> a lot of this is dialogue so forgive me if its boring. kinda more of a clarification chapter than plot chapter so YEET
> 
> next chapter is gonna be from klaus pov since i delayed it for this chapter <3 
> 
> also, again, if any of yall have klaus/dave headcanons you wanna share leave em in the comments and maybe ill incorporate a few into the upcoming chapters ;)

Dave had been lying on couch counting sheep when he felt the little vibrations radiating from his iPhone. An irritated sigh shot out of his lungs before he shoved his hand in the pocket of his designer jeans and pulled the electronic brick out. 

 

It was a text from his cousin Colleen. 

 

_ “Hey Cuz, I had a business inquiry in the city, you free right now? We could grab dinner and catch up on things :)”  _

 

The inclination of his heartbreak demanded he declined, but his desire to relieve the pressure in his chest prompted him to respond in a matter of seconds. 

 

“ _ Yeah! Let’s grab dinner. It’s been a while. Wanna meet at the steakhouse near my mom’s HQ?”  _

 

Three grey dots appeared, bouncing every few seconds as the woman keyed in her response. 

 

“ _ Sounds good. Meet in half an hour? I have major tea to spill.” _

 

_ “Yeah. Me too, ngl.”  _

 

With that, his finger pressed the thin rectangular button that locked his device, displaying the floral-painted skull that served as the screen saver. This was for the best; he needed to get out of this damned apartment and forget his smouldering anguish for a night. 

 

He didn’t bother improving his appearance. He had already shaved and showered and dressed in a casual manner, which was appropriate for such a situation. Before walking out, he snatched his light brown trench coat before hastily rushing towards the elevator. 

 

Walking into the lobby revealed that Christina was not working that night, causing the model to thank his lucky stars. He was not in the mood for her chipper demeanor or small talk. Thankfully, the woman behind the desk was far older than the ladder, holding a personality that could only be described as mundane. 

 

Tonight, he decided against using valet, choosing to take the elevator down to the underground garage. If this route avoided any human interaction it would prove successful. 

 

His thumb applied pressure upon the Jaguar’s gleaming key, unlocking the doors in a swift motion. The leather seats were scented lightly with traces of cigarette smoke, an easily fixable issue, but a wretched reminder of his tender heartbreak. 

 

The radio would just have to do as an acceptable distraction for the time being, which he readily switched on. An upbeat pop song roared to life with the automobile, which began its descent into the night. 

 

Half an hour later he was standing outside  _ Indigo _ , tiny specks of white glitter entangling into his long, fuzzy jacket. Just a few moments later, a midnight blue Porsche pulled into the valet parking lane, revealing his cousin in her business attire. 

 

Frizzy brown hair was pulled back neatly and maturely in a low bun, a few stray curls escaping the hair tie’s grasp. A sleek black suit covered her lithe body, the overcoat unbuttoned to reveal a white and navy blue striped button up. Inviting aqua eyes fell upon him, her beaming smile directed at him. She started towards the bougie restaurant, the extremely thin heel of her shoe tapping against damp concrete. 

 

Suddenly, Dave was caught in her good-natured embrace, the overbearing smell of her Calvin Klein perfume pleasantly suffocating him. His toned arms soon found there way around her upper back, returning the affection. 

 

“You still wear that damned Hugo Boss cologne, don’t you?” She chuckled while breaking the contact. 

 

“ _ You  _ still wear that outdated Calvin Klein perfume. It’s burning my lungs, just like the good old days.” 

 

“Outdated!?” Her hands were playfully placed over her beating heart, an artificial wince stemming through her body in a fit of fake grief. “How rude!” 

 

“That shit is from 2003!” the man retorted in a light-hearted manner. 

 

“ _ Die Hard _ is from 1988 and it’s still good!” 

 

“I can’t argue with that one.” 

 

“Y’know what would be great?” 

 

“No. What?”

 

“If we actually went inside before I get pneumonia.” 

 

Oh, shit. He had barely even noticed they were still in the expanse of prismatic flakes and frigid air. “Yikes. I can’t have you dying on me. Let’s go in.” 

 

_ Indigo  _ had a very comforting ambiance, it’s low, warmly hued illumination provoked a sense of tranquility and peace. It was located within a high class neighborhood, which attracted wealthy consumers with well established manners. Disruptions were a rare occurrence in this type of restaurant.

 

“A table for two please,” Colleen spoke in a graceful and confident fashion. In some realms she could be just as dominant as a man, never fearing honesty, criticism or taking the lead. Her cousin truly respected that quality. 

 

“Of course, Madame. If you would follow me,” a bleach-blonde, neatly groomed waitress initiated, leading the the Seterdahls to a relatively secluded booth. 

 

The woman began with stereotypical dining information, such as specials, new dishes and recommended drinks, prompting David to drown out her slightly irritating voice. He thanked the heavens when she finally removed herself from the table. 

 

“How did the Victor’s Secret Christmas show go? I was on a business trip so unfortunately I couldn’t go.”

 

If truth be told, the model had no interest in talking about the family’s many companies and especially not the lingerie one. 

 

“It was fine, I mean, the same as every other year. My mom tried to change the line-up a bit, but it was whatever.” 

 

“Wow. I never thought I’d live to see the day you weren’t super enthusiastic about it. I thought it was your favorite event of the year?” 

 

“Everything gets boring after doing it year after year.” 

 

The waitress, Kayla, had returned before the conversation could deepen, bringing their desired drinks with her. A strawberry freckled lemonade was placed in front of the man, while a cherry infused Dr. Pepper punch was handed to the woman. An unanimous decision to avoid alcohol had been made as they would both be driving home eventually. 

 

“You’re not gonna believe what this one clothing company did a few weeks ago,” the businesswoman started, a tone of disgust resting in each word.

 

“Oh, fuck, what happened?” the model inquired, although he internally questioned if he actually cared. The answer was no. 

 

For a duration of the dinner, Colleen ranted about her incompetent business partners, spewing gossip about the failures of competing companies. She briefly spoke of her father, who was David’s uncle, and his desire to build a fountain in the backyard of his billion dollar home. 

 

Of course, she eventually ran out of “tea” and gave notice to her cousin’s antisocial behavior. 

 

He’d been poking at his steak with his silver utensil, lacking the appetite to eat it. 

 

“Dave, are you okay? You just seem...off.” 

 

“Hmm? What?” 

 

“That’s what I mean. You’re preoccupied and you’ve barely even touched your food. What the hell is going on?”

 

“It’s nothing, Col.” 

 

Did he want to talk about  _ it?  _ He could not say; his mouth had taken control, disclosing information of its choosing. 

 

“Is the family okay? The businesses?”

 

“Yeah, it's all fine. The same old shit.” 

 

The woman would not back off and continued her ceaseless prodding. It was of course, of good intention, but that still didn’t lessen the discomfort of a potential confession. 

 

“Then what the hell is bothering you, Dave? I  _ know  _ you, we’ve been close since we were still in diapers.” 

 

A concerned sigh pressed through her product coated lips. “Tell me what’s going on. I’m here for you.” 

 

The heat of her kindness was beginning to melt the ice case his heart was trapped within in a slow but steady pattern. He eventually caved.

 

“I-I..uh..I met this guy,” he hesitantly confessed. 

 

“Okay. Where’d you meet?” 

 

A soft chuckle escaped his throat. 

 

“We met at a gay bar.”  What a wonderful place to start. 

“He wasn’t like any man I’d ever met before… He was, charismatic and fun and just-just  _ different _ from everyone else.” 

 

The dam that had been gradually wearing down, sending slivers of wood into the river, had finally collapsed. An endless rift of liquid pushed through every remaining barrier, engulfing all life. 

 

David had told her everything, from the moment he laid eyes upon Klaus to the moment he’d finally took a sip of Jeremy’s truth tea. 

 

“Do you want me to tell you what you want to hear or do you want the truth?” 

 

Colleen’s statement, drenched in seriousness and concern, had cut through the aura of serenity as a cruel wisp of reality. 

 

“There’s nothing you could say that would hurt me more than what Jeremy said.” 

 

“God, I don’t know where to start. You’ve really gotten yourself into a mess, Seterdahl.” 

 

Yeah, no shit.

 

“What I can tell you with complete confidence is that you need to take a step back, or maybe ten. You are borderline  _ obsessed  _ with the guy. It’s off-putting, even if you have good intentions beneath it.”

 

She took a deep, frustrated breath before her cerulean orbs met his ocean blue ones. A wave of truth was demanding to be freed from her mouth even if it was a painful one. 

 

“David, ever since we were kids, our parents gave us anything we ever wanted. Especially, you, with your mother running the modeling agency. If you wanted one of her models, she’d readily hand them over, no doubt about it. As a result, you have this subconscious inclination to  _ objectify  _ anyone you find attractive. 

It’s not your fault, really, because our parents failed us. They tried to teach us manners, respect and business skills, but they forgot to drill it into our heads that...people are not like expensive cars, clothes and jewelry. Just because we want someone, doesn’t mean we can have them, and I think that’s hard for you to accept.” 

 

Both Seterdahls were forced to accept this was the ultimate truth, an inescapable fact. Denial was futile; veracity would reign above all. 

 

“You live in this fantasy, where everyone and everything bends to your will. You’ve got this idea stuck in your head that Klaus is some faultless trophy that you have to win over. Now that he’s not fitting into your perfect little world, you’re freaking out, Dave.” 

 

A mournful haze had befallen the gateway to the woman’s soul, as she could not watch someone so dear to her finally succumb to the sincerity of those spoken words. 

 

“Klaus is not  _ yours.  _ You don’t own him and you need to stop thinking that you do. I sit here and listen to you spit venom about these other men that are all over him, but you choose to ignore that fact that you’re just as bad.

Klaus is a  _ human being,  _ Dave, not some perfect angel from your far off daydream. He has  _ feelings, _ he has fears, and hopes and problems and a family. For once, instead of trying to win him over, you should try  _ being there  _ for him, like a real person would. It’s obvious he has serious issues. What he needs is an ally, not some knight in shining armor, that you’re trying so damn hard to be.” 

 

With that, the deal was sealed. The deal with realism. Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is power. A terrifying silence had fallen between them, both parties frozen in their everlasting dread.

 

When Colleen had finally found the courage within to shift her gaze from the hardwood floor to the man whose illusion she had just single-handedly shattered, she was overcome by a surge of relief.

 

There was no rage, denial or hate in the man’s expression, but rather a look of understanding mixed with a small degree of horror. A lone tear crawled down his left cheek, which had been reddened in shame; enlightened azure eyes beamed into empty space as if it was a telescope. This is what acceptance is; this is what it means to grow up. 

 

“David, please don’t cry. It’s gonna be alright.”

 

His eyelids fluttered, releasing the remaining drops of saltwater to leave wet streaks on his face. A harsh fact check just may be the key to unlock his chained heart. 

 

“It’s all true, Colleen. I- I needed that.” 

 

A mix of pity, sympathy, and respect for the model twisted in her stomach, as he had handled the downfall of his imaginary kingdom quite well. 

 

A pained smile was plastered on top of his trembling lips. “It’s about time I woke up.” 

 

~

 

Those wise words stuck to Dave like bees to honey, reverberating in his heart, mind, and soul. 

Suddenly, everything really  _ was  _ gonna be okay. Suddenly, he was content with rejection. 

 

All that mattered was Klaus’s happiness, even if it had nothing to do with him. Klaus, who belonged to no man, who was free to do whatever his heart desired. Klaus, who was used to coping on his own, trying to hope with nothing to hold. 

 

If that wonderful  _ human being  _ needed Dave, he would be there. If he felt nothing about the man, then that's fine as well. 

 

That was the freedom that truth tea offered, luring in the naive for ages and salvaging broken hearts.

  
  



	15. Back to the Shadows With All I Hold Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this was honestly my favorite chapter to write! its pretty long, mainly cuz ifelt bad that we werent getting a lot of chapters from klaus pov plus i delayed this a bit OOF.
> 
> i feel so bad for our baby boy in this but by the end its :))
> 
> i really think yall gonna like this chapter (or i hope at least LMAO)
> 
> on the last chapter you guys really came thru and left some of the sweetest comments :') i dont deserve you guys TBH
> 
> love you guys. enjoy!
> 
> also:  
> How to name a chapter by madam_marie  
> 1\. listen to music while writing said chapter  
> 2\. take random lyric from song that barely relates to chapter  
> 3\. BOOM. UR DONE.

Misconceptions are an inescapable matter of life that are inevitably going to be torn apart. These falsified ideas were unfortunately another cog in the complex machine of Klaus Hargreeves’s incessant curse.

 

January of twenty nineteen proved to be a month of realizations and revelations, only deepening the intertwining madness and agony that had ingrained itself into every fiber of his being.

 

The misapprehension that was annihilated in this period of confusion and anguish was one that had been brewing within the man for more than a decade. By age thirteen, Number Four had already come to peace with the idea his heart had grown numb along with this polluted body. This notion failed to leave his mind, remaining trapped within his mess of a brain for the following years.

 

By age fifteen, he had stopped crying, convinced he’d run out of tears to shed. However, at twenty-one, those bitter drops of saltwater had resurfaced to smudge his cheap mascara once again. Even as wet streaks formed upon his cheeks, his heart was filled with uncertainty, leaving the man questioning who or what he weeped for.

 

The most reasonable assumption that was accepted entailed the mystery tears being triggered by his suffering physical form, rather than his stunted state of emotional growth. The junkie was fine with that; a sobbing body encasing a stone heart. It was January eighth when this perfect illusion was shattered into a billion shards of glass.

 

The library which had once been such a comforting environment had served as a tool to break a heart believed to be emotionless. It started out so innocent; going through the functioning six Hargreeves children’s social media to pass the ruthless continuum of time. Klaus’s quick fix (besides drugs, of course) had failed to occupy his chaotic mind which frantically looped around itself.

 

His lingering mind helplessly drifted and dwelled upon his interest in Dave. Before he could halt his own muscles, his skeletal fingers had already betrayed him, reaching into the warm, wooly pocket of his jacket and exiting with the business card clutched between two slender digits.

 

Who exactly _was_ David A. Seterdahl? What if he was a serial killer disguised as a gentleman? What if he was married to a woman, sneaking to gay bars to fulfill his taboo fantasies? What if he was just an average guy searching for a one night stand?

 

There were just so many intriguing possibilities, overwhelming the man enough to bring about his surrender. In his foolish whim, a “D” was typed into the Google Search bar. “David Se”

 

A grotesque knot twisted within the addicts gut when the autofill had finished the name for him.

“David Seterdahl.”

 

This wave of dread had washed over his frail body, screaming at him to prepare for the worst. Why the hell would his name autofill into Google?

 

The junkie took this thought and ran with it, throwing it around in his mind for a few moments, while trembling emerald eyes glared at the screen. The inescapable sound of his vividly beating heart rung in his ears, only growing in intensity as the cursor drifted over the pale grey button reading “Google Search.”

 

Ah.

 

Breaking a heart was much simpler than previously believed, Klaus’s precious organ smashing like a Celestine vase.

 

There was just no way….it wasn’t hard to accept, it was _impossible_ to accept.

 

“David Arthur Seterdahl. American business magnate and Model.”

 

It was undoubtedly _his_ Dave. The same man that had taken a beating to protect him. The same man that drove a jet black Jaguar casually. The same man that claimed he was a “small business investor.”  

 

In a state of agony and shock, the addict’s heart had imploded on itself, mourning for an unattainable romance. The bitter liquid that formed in front of glistening green eyes originated from this unbearable feeling of disappointment and lost hope.

 

God, his emotions begged his curiosity to cease, to no avail, as his fingers uncontrollably scrolled through the haunting page of Google. No more! He wanted to know nothing more!

 

He’d wish to forget the harsh truth that David A. Seterdahl was a multi-millionaire, with multi-millionaire parents, with a flourishing company and an undeniable following of enchanting models. He’d wish to forget that a man of such high social status had ever taken notice of him, had ever looked straight into his eyes and lied, telling him he was _beautiful._

 

Why was he crying? Klaus should be used to this by now: being left behind while others moved on, forgetting his miserable existence. Everyone he ever dared to _love_ had seen him as a mere speck in a collection of more desirable commodities.

 

Why was he so goddamn _stupid!?_ How could he allow himself to believe that David actually _cared_ about him! Like he was actually concerned for his well being! Of course he didn’t _really_ mean what he said or did. It was just pretend….

 

There was no such thing as a man who gave a shit about _Klaus fucking Hargreeves._ The family fuck-up, the cheap whore, the helpless addict. Dave was just like everyone else, who just wanted to fuck him, feed him, then leave him.

 

God with a net worth as high as his, there was no questioning the truth that he’d get anything he ever wanted, from someone’s heart to a new hundred thousand dollar sports car. In a sickening sense, it was a gruesome reminder of the other six Hargreeves, who reigned above this cruel world, never bothering to drag their lost brother out of the dark, who would never cry for his absence.

 

This overwhelming sense of loss had eventually consumed his malnourished body, wavering legs carrying him as he dashed out of that building, a mixture of charcoal eyeliner and salt water following in his wake. He ran from his problems, just like he always did. He ran because he had no home to run to, had no one to turn to.

 

A life trapped in solitude and depression, was it really worth living? Who he was and who is are not the same, the only remaining signs of his past self were the sharp-edged pieces of his personality that hadn’t disintegrated yet.

 

The passage of time was momentarily forgotten, it seemingly taking ages for him to end up in “his” part of town, where the broken souls dwelled.

 

Embarrassment was a feeling that had gone astray years ago, its withdrawal allowing the man to openly wail and weep, even in its pathetic nature. Who cares if the entire world laughed at him!? He’d been humiliated enough times to grow used to the feeling and readily expect it.

 

This intense wave of emotion left his brain feeling fried, as his legs had abandoned the idea of running and began stumbling in a slow, pained manner as if they were about to give up on him like everything else. And just like expected, they eventually did, his starved body collapsing on the brutally freezing concrete of a shadow laced alley.

 

Klaus bawled into the sleeve of his jacket while his scrappy attire failed to protect his pale skin from the frozen surface beneath him. By now, the sun had set, seven o’ clock rolling in with the darkness as if to spite him.

 

A horrendous shriek ripped through his throat, its everlasting terror echoing off the cracked, weed-covered walls of two sketchy shops. Hadn’t misfortune already plagued him enough? It was relentless, just like the brutality of the Hargreeves family.

 

Occasionally, his desperate attempts to get air inside of his lungs would silence his wails, the only sound being the flickering light nearby and the hush of fast cars speeding down an icy street. They would then continue, just as they always did, the wind the only one willing to listen to his lament. Or so he thought.

How long he had cried before she appeared, the man could not say. All he recalled was the tap of her red high heels slicing through his inconsistent whimpers.

 

“Klaus? Is that you?”

 

Her tone was curious and laced with concern, the speed of her footsteps increasing. He knew that voice, who’s was it though? For half a second he wondered if it was one of his sisters, but then recalled the fact they would die before coming to this part of town. He then realized it was his friend, Katie, who had also fallen victim to a life of prostitution and loneliness. Hell, he had begged her to help him get into the profession.

 

A frail hand, trapping a very tiny amount of heat, was then comfortingly placed on his shoulder while the woman leaned down to speak to him.

 

“Klaus? What the fuck is happening? Are you alright?”

 

His head shot up, her face wincing at the sight of the mascara dripping down his cheeks.

 

“I’m never alright!” The addict wailed before stuffing his head back into the embrace of his own thin arm.

 

“C’mon, talk to me. What’s going on with you? Did someone hurt you?”

 

“Everyone hurts me,” he bawled, although his voice was muffled by the fabric of his wooly jacket.

 

“I can’t hear you, honey, you’re hysterical right now. You need to sit up so you don’t suffocate on your own spit,” she advised before tucking her hands beneath his arms and leaning him against the hard wall with ease, due to his compliance. Subconsciously, his body morphed into fetal position, his scraped knees pressing against his bony chest.

 

“Please talk to me. Is it your family again?”

 

“They don’t even f-fucking talk to me.”

 

“Who was it then? Did a client hurt you?”

 

“H-he wasn’t a client. Just some asshole liar at a b-bar.”

 

A sigh of understanding escaped her lungs, the warm air becoming visible in the chilly winter abyss.

 

“Where did he hurt you, Klaus?”

Another sob was drawn from his mouth before his hand began to clutch the fabric laying upon the left side of his chest.

 

“R-right in the fucking heart, Katie.”

 

He had finally gathered the courage to look at her after that, noting the way she stressfully bit her bottom lip, which was coated in some cheap red gloss.

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

Her dark brown hair was straight and stretched down to her chin, one end was slightly longer than the other providing a type of side bang that would cover one of her chocolate brown eyes. She proceeded to tuck it behind her pierced ear, which a large silver hoop hung from.

 

“T-this guy spent all night trying to j-just talk to me and ended up beating the shit out of these other guys that attacked me,” he started while taking deep, controlled breaths to ease his mind.

 

“Doesn’t sound like such a bad guy right now. What happened after that?”

 

Hargreeves sighed, eyes shooting towards the sky as he picked through his foggy memory.

 

“He got kicked out of the club. I followed him because I had really started to like him. We ended up going to some secluded bar called Die Company or something….”

 

Katie quickly adjusted her white, fur jacket as the wind picked up, but proceeded to listen with care.

 

“He had this really expensive car and told me he worked with small businesses and saved for it. I should’ve fucking known!”

 

The tears began again, although instead of his sleeve, this set was wiped on the backs of his hands.

 

“We were having a g-good time, o-or at least I was, until his phone started vibrating non-stop. He said one of mom’s s-stores got robbed or some shit and ran out the door.”

 

The woman’s brow furrowed.

 

“He just left you alone at a bar after all of that?”

 

“H-he ended up giving me his number and name. Then I looked it up and I just…”

 

His companion looked at him with sorrowful eyes while one of her rough hands remained on his shoulder.

 

“What did you find?”

 

“He’s a fucking millionaire model.”

 

“Are..are you serious?”

 

“Yeah and I was dumb enough to think he actually liked me.”

 

Katie’s fingers were then placed upon her temples as if she was thinking.

 

“Well, did you call him?”

 

“Do you really think he would answer?”

 

She shrugged in response, the little white hairs of her coat blowing in the breeze.

 

“I mean, he did get into a fight to protect you. Gotta give the guy _some_ brownie points. How are you gonna sit here and say he doesn’t like you when you never called?”

 

“He’s the son of two millionaires. Do you really think his parents would be thrilled to find out their son is screwing around with a fucking prostitute junkie?”

 

“Aren’t you technically the son of a _billionaire_?”

 

Klaus laughed at that one. He was the failed experiment of a billionaire, not the _son_ of one.

 

“He’s probably got models waiting around the block trying to get with him. I’m the last person he’d pick.”

 

“To be fair, didn’t he kinda ‘pick’ you already? Obviously, there's something about you he likes otherwise he probably would’ve turned a blind eye when you were being harassed.”

 

“He was probably just desperate to get laid or he was drunk or something. I’m pretty sure that ‘thing’ he likes about me was probably my ass.”

 

The addict had begun picking at his black nail polish, watching the layers chip off like the memories of January second.

 

“Did he make an advance on you?”

 

“I mean, no, bu-”

 

“Klaus. Listen. If this guy is a millionaire, he could just take what he wanted. If he wanted a quick fuck he would’ve had you and been off. I know how rich men work, they’re my most common clients.”

 

“Katie, please just _stop._ He doesn’t want me. It’s-it’s just…”

 

“Just what?”

 

“ _Impossible._ I’m dirty and too fat and annoying and disaster follows me like a shadow. I don’t even have change to call him with. Why would somebody like _that_ ever want someone like me?”

 

A few seconds of silence ticked by, the two watching the gleaming specks of snow falling peacefully to the ground.

 

“Maybe it’s because you’re fun, charismatic, cute, and charming. Maybe because there's this look in your eyes that screams “I wish for a better life”. Maybe because you aren’t like _everyone else_. I don’t care if you can’t see it, Klaus Hargreeves, but I know for a fact there is this light that shines inside of you. Your family did, too. They’re afraid of it because they know you could be something greater than the stupid fucking Umbrella Academy.”

 

“I don’t have powers, Katie, and there isn’t a person on this Earth that doesn’t know that.”

 

“What you have is far more dangerous than what your siblings had.”

 

A look of pure confusion flashed across the man’s face as green met brown in a standoff.

 

“And what the hell is that?”

 

“It’s the ability to make people _love_ you, Klaus. You don’t notice when you do it, no one notices, but people are just naturally drawn to you. I’ve seen you steal clients that had been going to the same boy for years. I’ve seen you talk your way out of an arrest. It’s not a shocker that you stole the heart of some millionaire.”

 

“It’s just because I’m physically attractive. Everyone pretty has that power…”

 

“Old Reggie really fuckin’ brainwashed you, huh? It’s not just your body, it’s your personality too, y’know.”

 

After she finished her rant, the lady of the night glared at her cracked wrist watch before tapping on its face with a crimson acrylic nail.

“I’ve got to meet a client in ten minutes. I’d better be off.”

 

For some reason, Number Four, who always had something to say, could not find any words. He stared while she stood from her seated position next to him, as if this reality was a movie. Was what she said even...true?

 

Suddenly, she leaned down in front of him, a white and neon pink fabric coin purse was gripped in her left hand. The jingling of the metal currency was audible.

 

“Now, you take this and go call that man. You’re gonna miss every shot you don’t take. Go find your happily ever after, Klaus.”

 

The bag was dropped in his lap, plopping right into his cupped hands. The metallic rattling was the last sound to resonate before the confident tapping of her heels had resumed.

 

The night suddenly seemed much warmer….

  



	16. I'm At A Payphone Trying to Call Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HEHEHHEHE ITS H A P P E N I N G. this chapter was getting a bit long so i wanted to cut it in half. also sorry for the wait! i wasn't sure how long this shit is gonna take to finish, so i decided to cut it into two to make up for the waiting
> 
> yikes
> 
> very spicy this chapter. extra S P oI cY

Satisfaction is an impossible goal when you are left with nothing but questions. Whether his driving force was curiosity or desperation, David really could not say. Afterall, it was only last night

he’d spoken to Collen and finally decided to grow up. 

 

His newfound maturity brought unexpected consequences and rewards. The man hadn’t even slept last night, instead, he lay in his Sleep Number bed, playing with his cousin’s words in his head. Hour after hour of fidgeting with her verbal putty provided further insights into who he was and where he came from. 

 

Boredom was not the only factor that drove him absolutely crazy, but disgust as well. Who or what this negative emotion was aimed at was unclear, but not a complete mystery. He’d really just started to detest the modeling industry overall. The same industry that had given him everything, the same industry he reigned over. 

 

In his ignorance, he had seen its high standards and common rejections as a part of the trade, but this newly acquired enlightenment dwelled on its insensitivity. Who the hell was he to tell a human being they weren’t  _ pretty  _ enough? Who the hell was his mother to deny a woman a role because her hips were ‘too wide’? 

 

Of course he would forever bear the curse, as he was fatefully tied to the industry. It was pre-decided he would live out his days influencing this specific scene, but the idea that he could  _ change  _ some things about it gave him a speck of hope. 

 

True as in any situation, there would always be positive and obstructive reactions. The model would vouch for the idea this brand-new wisdom had raked in far more rewards than downfalls. 

 

Dave had finally gotten in touch with his humanity, which had once been tainted by the artificial environment that produced him. At the revelation of Klaus’s true profession, his feelings were mixed. Disgust? Mistrust? Pity? It was impossible to tell. 

 

Now that the storm had passed, the only remaining emotion was  _ sympathy. _ Surely there was a reason he had turned to substance abuse, which had dragged him further down into the depths of despair. Addiction is a  _ real  _ problem; the man can’t help if his body had grown dependant on street drugs. 

 

Underneath all that greasy black makeup and charismatic personality, it was his imperfections that made him so  _ perfect.  _ Perfect in his own little way, in the Klaus kind of way. 

 

Seterdahl began to rekindle with his childhood desire to protect and save those he cared about. He was not foolish enough to believe he was Superman, but he’d try the best he could, even if the situation became tough. 

 

That’s why he sat in the driver’s seat of his luxury automobile, hands clutching the steering wheel until his knuckles were white. The man dwelled beneath the exquisite complex that cut deep into the midnight blue sky speckled with stars.

 

All his eyes laid upon was either concrete or metal, two very suitable materials for a parking garage littered with high-class vehicles. The white lights encased within the ceiling were far too luminous, the glow radiating into each slab of concrete and layer of paint. 

 

The businessman knew for a fact that any day prior to yesterday he would have sped out of this damned garage in a reckless manner, searching for the beloved stranger he met at  _ The Tunnel. _

 

Today, he decided to weigh his options, like a functioning adult. He did not want to come off too strong, or God forbid,  _ creepy.  _ However, Klaus’s actions contradicted themself in a baffling manner, leaving a sense of uncertainty lingering in the air. 

 

He’d been flirtatious for a majority of that night, yet he never called. So what were his true desires? This indecision created an uneasiness within David, nearly driving him out of the Jaguar and back to his empty bed. But something within demanded that he  _ know.  _ Was Klaus Krause interested him or not? 

 

Just this one time. Just this one time, he would look for the other, ask him questions and finally get some answers. He was prepared if the addict told him to leave, which the model would do if that’s what he wished. He was also prepared to stay if that’s what was expected of him. 

 

At last, he had settled his internal debate, bringing his gaze from an obnoxious yellow support beam to the dashboard of his car. 

 

X

 

The last time Klaus felt this way he was seven. At that point, he and his siblings were far too underdeveloped to judge individually, far too young to understand what exclusion truly was. 

 

Grace had told them their Father had something special for each of them, that they would receive said gift on Christmas. He used to love surprises, which is why the thrilling wave of tingles would crawl up his calves and settle in his stomach. Excitement would overtake his veins, causing a ceaseless fit of fidgeting and antsy behavior. 

 

The feeling coursing throughout his body right now was quite synonymous to back then, causing his heart to palpitate rapidly and a coral hue to engulf his cheeks. Hopefully, the outcome of this situation would be better than the one when he was a child.

 

That Christmas, the other six Hargreeves had been gifted their Umbrella Academy masks, the black felt complimenting their lively eyes. This started the brutal cycle of Klaus ending up empty handed. The official beginning of the end. 

 

He couldn’t think about that now- he  _ wouldn’t  _ think about that now. Just this once, the spotlight was on  _ him,  _ and him alone. The exhilaration feeding into his muscles urged them forward, each of his determined steps crunching the white glitter beneath his feet. 

 

Just this once, his head would be held high, burning gaze bound towards new beginnings instead of the shameful ground. The thick layers of his charcoal colored wool jacket bounced with the gleaming strands of fake hair that bordered the seams. 

 

Sour lungs inhaled deeply, snowflakes and crisp air coating the organs in their enthusiastic shroud. The swing of his step resonated with the silvery sound of metallic coins clashing like an enchanting tango. 

 

Tonight, he’d immobilize his compulsive lying, finally allowing the bitter sweet truth to roll of his tongue in sugary peals. This was the point of no return, where there was nothing to lose but an abundance of things to gain. 

 

If the whole world went up in arms on this very eve, he could bear it. If this labyrinth of hope is revealed an illusion, he could bear it. Klaus Hargreeves had been alone all along, from the very first moment of his grief-stricken existence. The man had been stripped of everything he’d ever had or dreamed to, from his self-esteem, to his pride. It could only go up from this point, which could be appropriately labeled rock bottom. 

 

And suddenly, there _ it  _ was. An outdated, mundane object that would serve as a beacon of hope for the night. The pool of shattered glass at the base of the payphone shimmered with the purity of freshly birthed snow and was further damaged by his weight, a series of quick cracks marking its demise. 

 

X

 

Dave was not usually an aggressive person. His type of fury would need to be provoked relentlessly until it broke free of its cage in inevitable rage. On top of its subdued nature, the man’s anger was one of rationality, acting on its preordained sense of justice. 

 

However, anyone who was driving on the interstate that fateful night would certainly not agree with that notion. In his eternal glory, the man floored the gas pedal, a lion’s roar radiating from his vehicle. It moved from lane to lane, rapidly avoiding other automobiles, the idea of using blinkers lost in its mechanical recollection. 

 

Surely he would be believed desperate for a sexual encounter if the unsuspecting bystanders were aware of his location: the sketchy part of the city. Without a doubt, it would be teeming with addicts, dealers, hookers and criminals. All sense of logic told the man to turn back, yet the thrill of the risk was enticing. 

 

If this search turned up empty-handed, shame would consume his being for making an assumption that Klaus dwelled there. The guess was based on reason, but that failed to relieve any of the guilt twisting within his gut. 

 

X

 

Klaus had glared at David’s business card for such an extended period of time, the series of digits had been ingrained into his memory. Trembling white fingers trailed over the rusting telephone buttons with fading numbers painted upon them. 

 

Pressure was applied to the key in the upper right corner, followed by two others. 

“312…” 

 

The most prominent noise became the potent pumping his chest emitted. It rung in his ears, overcoming any other sound that dared to challenge it. He had to do this  _ now.  _ The chance would never come again, leaving him to rot in his disdainful existence. 

 

Three more buttons were pressed by frozen, slender fingers. 

 

“543..”

 

For a while, the man really believed he had become numb to fear, along with a majority of other emotions. But,  _ fear  _ is the only word that could accurately describe the sensation pooling in his chest as each digit was dialed. 

  
  


The addict paused momentarily to silence his inner coward which cried desperately for him to hang up right then and there. It would not be long until he succumbed to it, prompting him to dial the final set of numbers in a swift manner. You might as well rip off a bandaid quickly.

“2149.” 

 

By now, his trembling had evolved into straight up shaking, the phone trapped within his grasp quivering with the rest of his body. He placed it against his ear. 

 

_ Riiiing _

 

Klaus swore his heart halted at that moment, yet somehow sped up as well. Forget breathing normally! His breath had become an inconsistent pattern of chaos that struggled to get the icy air inside his lungs. A mixture of terror, excitement, affection and uncertainty shot through his spine, as if he had just been impaled by a thunderbolt. A lingering sensation remained in its aftermath. 

 

X

 

The heavy bass that was discharged from the booming stereo caused minor vibrations to trail throughout the Jaguar. Dave hadn’t cared enough to hook up the aux cord, instead of allowing some cliche, overplayed, pop song to overtake the vehicle. 

 

Of course, his phone had been hooked up to it using bluetooth, but as earlier stated, the man felt no desire to change the station, even if it was not his preferred type of song. 

 

_ If we go down then we go down together _

_ We’ll get away with everything, let’s show them we are better _

 

Paris by the Chainsmokers. Tolerable, but not great. 

 

The chorus was nearly going to hit, the beat clearly picking up its pace and intensity, when the default iPhone ringtone sliced through the harmonious melody, silencing the tune.

 

The playful tone danced through the radio, some unknown number appearing on the center dashboard. Fucking work  _ again?  _

 

He was far too busy to deal with anyone’s shit, including his mother, his father and business associates. The thought of declining right then and there crossed his beautiful mind, but was dismissed as it would require he removed one of his hands from the steering wheel. He’d just let it go to voicemail. 

 

X

 

The payphone had rung a total of five times before a sweet, familiar voice spoke from the other line. 

 

“Hey.”

 

Number Four was  _ grinning  _  uncontrollably, his heart finally deciding to beat again, in a slow, affectionate manner.

 

“H-hi!”

 

“You’ve reached the cell of David Arthur Seterdahl. If regarding personal matters, leave your name and number. For business inquiries please call 312-409-8371. Thanks, have a nice day.” 

 

Just like that, a spark so young, naive and full of vigor was snuffed out; those too-familiar awful tears taking its place. Since when was it this easy to make him cry?

 

The salt water’s origins were unknown, but certainly stemmed from either disappointment or relief. It  _ really was  _ the man’s number. He hadn’t lied afterall! 

 

But his failure to pick up left a variety of burning questions. Had he declined? Was he simply busy? Perhaps the best thing to do would be to leave a message, like a normal human being. 

 

“H-hi, Dave. I-It’s me…”

 

X

 

Seterdahl nearly crashed his damn luxury automobile when the most wonderful voice known to man had been emitted from his stereo. His head shot towards the electronic screen in such a swift fashion his transportation means had swerved into the right lane, a wretched screech scraped against the fragile night air, followed by the obnoxious blare of a car horn. 

 

“By ‘me’ I mean, uh..K-Klaus, of course. We...we met at  _ The Tunnel  _ a while back and I’ve been a bit, erm, busy. I guess I’m calling because I...I want to see you again. O-only if yo-” 

 

Now safely pulled on the highway’s comforting shoulder, David slammed his index finger upon the screen, selecting the green circle with the white silhouette of a phone within it. 

 

“Where are you?” 

 

God, his voice was emitted in a much deeper octave than expected.

 

X

 

Lightning struck his chest the second that manly, yet gentle vocalization seeped through the line. Was he  _ imagining  _ things? The smouldering inferno within had been reignited, scorching every ounce of his body. 

 

“Dave?” 

 

He half expected it to be an auditory hallucination, which would further humiliate him in this unplanned voice message. 

 

“Klaus. Where are you? Can I see you, like  _ now? _ ” 

 

Oh, the beating in his chest completely froze when that silvery, kind, voice rolled off his tongue, saying his name! His internal blaze had finally consumed his cheeks, which were not a warm coral color, but rather a raging red. 

 

“Y-yeah! I’m-” 

 

In the slums. Where I belong. 

 

“I’m in a shady part of the city. Can I meet you somewhere closer to  _ The Tunnel _ ?  I’d have to walk so it might be a while.” 

 

Even in his absolute elation, a twinge of guilt began to form in the pit of his stomach. Tonight, he would have to come clean. Confess his crimes, his sins, his demons. But in that moment, all that mattered was the man he adored above all else  was on the other end of that phone call. Klaus would undoubtedly do anything to keep him there. 

 

“Are you crazy? I’m not letting you walk out in the cold. Where are you? I’ll pick you up. I don’t care how sketchy it is.” 

 

A well-known burn cut through his nostrils as a layer of liquid distorted his vision. God, David was just so unbelievably kind! He actually was  _ concerned  _ about him! Klaus  _ frickin _ Hargreeves! How is that possible? A million questions remained within his mind, the most prominent ones being: why does this man care for me? and what does he want from me? 

 

“A-are you sure?” 

 

Beneath his layers of charisma and beautifully crafted lies, the addict always saw himself as a burden, his eternal fear growing stronger as he proved it was factual after all. The last thing a model and businessman would need is just that….

 

X

 

“I’m absolutely fucking sure. I can’t have you catching pneumonia on me.”

 

Curiosity was forever entangled into David’s being, always scratching his internal walls, beginning to be emancipated. That’s exactly what it was doing now. 

 

In all honesty, the model didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know about the others who had left him out in the freezing winter, or completely gave up on him. The only thing he truly needed was to be made aware of this boy’s whereabouts. 

 

“Please, Klaus. It  _ really  _ doesn’t matter to me. I-I just….” 

 

Seterdahl contemplated each and every word while constructing his next sentence. 

 

“I miss you.” 

 

It was the undeniable truth that slipped past his lips. Hell, he yearned for the other man’s presence, for his lovely laughter, for his broken emerald eyes that begged for something better than what he had. He wished for nothing more than to be within it once again or even just to witness the addict’s remarkable splendor. 

 

“I’m right outside of King’s Vape on Iowa Avenue. R-really I could come to you. It’s not exactly safe around here…” 

 

Finally, Klaus cracked. Wonderful peals of relief consumed the model, as if two thousand dumbbells had been lifted off his chest. Thank the heavens he was only about five minutes away. It would appear his guess was correct after all. 

 

“Don’t move. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

 

“Five minutes? Why the hell were you in this par-” 

 

X

 

The line went dead. Not in that dreadful, hopeless type of death; but rather, the type of new beginnings. One thing’s end would serve as another’s starting point. What exactly was to be started, no one could really say. 

 

So, there he was. Number Four, the adopted son of Reginald Hargreeves, standing in a shattered, dilapidated phone booth with nothing but ambition fueling his beating heart. Shock and excitement fought for control of his broken body, leaving his mind in a rushing frenzy. This  _ elation  _ overflowing his veins was captivating and foreign. 

 

Klaus only knew one thing for certain: whenever a luminous reflection dared to step into his line of vision, his breath would cease, his heartbeat increase. He felt like a child in a fairytale, whose life long wish had finally been granted. 

 

What was more unbelievable? That fact he had finally caught a break, or the fact that his ‘break’ was the multimillionaire David Seterdahl? In just a few agonizing minutes, that very man would be in his trembling arms, warm, handsome, kind and vulnerable as ever. 

  
  



	17. Your Love Is a Miracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BY FAR MY FAVE CHAPTER TO WRITE. I AM SO ELATED TO FINALLY HAVE OUR BOYS WORK THINGS OUT. I HOPE YOU GUYS LOVE THIS AS MUCH AS I DO <3
> 
> I forgot to mention this last chapter, but you guys have been extra generous with the compliments on these last few chapters and it really means a lot to me. its you guys that inspire me to write and I truly hope i can meet your expectations with this. 
> 
> ~Soda

The sleek black coating of the Jaguar dashed through the silent night, the star’s luminous glow becoming entangled in the gleaming paint. 

 

The beast let out a ferocious roar as it bolted through the decaying streets of the slums. The soulless eyes of the lost ones became locked the exquisite automobile, which many believed originated from a fairytale. 

 

David’s purposive glare burned into the cracked, pothole littered streets, only occasionally processing the dilapidated structures that flew past the car’s bulletproof glass. 

 

Muscular fingers held the wheel in a death grip as if letting go would result in absolute annihilation, which in all honesty, would. 

 

Ladies of the night would pathetically follow his vehicle, clinging to a falsified hope of serving as an escort for its driver. Little did they know, he had chosen a favorite hustler over five days prior. 

 

Adrenaline had consumed his well-defined body, slicing through his bloodstream in an insatiable thrill. A mere thought of Klaus would send his heart twisting in a fit of pure affection. 

 

A sharp left turn produced a wretched screech as scorching rubber ground against chilled concrete. At last, the lavish automobile had reached the road of new beginnings. Or as anyone else would call it, Iowa Avenue. 

 

An enlightening streak of moonlight became entwined in a thin layer of damaged glass, that happened to shield a glossy charcoal payphone from Mother Nature’s brutality. 

 

However, it was not the telephone alone within the glassware’s refuge, as a long-forgotten treasure accompanied it. An absolute gem, who went by the name of Klaus Krause. 

 

His skeletal silhouette could be spotted from a distance, the wintry breeze ruffling naturally luscious raven locks. Emerald eyes cut deep into his being, sharper than a butcher’s knife. 

 

In a mix of desperation and longing, brakes were forcefully slammed with Timberlands, the well-crafted hunk of metal lurching forward in shock. 

 

With little regard for the machine’s well being, the gear stick was hastily adjusted to “park”, only to further damage the vehicle. 

 

Dave, however, showed no signs of concern or care, his trembling fingers fumbling with the door handle until he eventually shoved the metal door open. 

 

The night’s relentless chill flooded into the Jaguar at that moment, both freezing and wonderful at the same time. It’s reign was short-lived, as a mere moment later the door was slammed shut with the force of a tidal wave. 

 

X

 

Klaus’s beating heart had given up the second he had heard David’s silvery voice emit from the payphones dying speaker. The organ palpated with adoration and disbelief, its profound sense of elation immersing his shaking body. 

 

His warm, affectionate breath had been paralyzed when glistening shamrock orbs fell upon the beastly ride of his beloved. 

 

Failure to perform natural bodily functions only further screwed with his damaged form, an endearing mix of panic and suffocation devising within his torso. The pure devotion leaking out of his heart was painful in its own type of ecstasy. Each pump of fondness clenched the ticker in a death grip, demanding he never part with this boiling intimacy. 

 

The reflective raven paint job of the Jaguar intertwined with the blue-tinted night sky, speckled with white glitter, synonymous to its operator’s striking ocean eyes. 

 

Like a lifelong dream come true, Dave emerged from the mechanical brute, absolutely stunning beneath the twinkling moonlight. 

 

Sensuous bronze waves contrasted the flawless, pale skin of his forehead and entangled with the alluring white light from the space rock. 

 

Never had anyone looked at Klaus the way this man did: genuine affinity ingrained into each dash of his blue irises while undying devotion accompanied his gentle smile. 

 

It was as if the model was  _ glowing _ . Each radiating beam of light stuck to the man’s well-built body like a natural phenomenon. 

 

The addict had frozen in time, undeniable love eternally seizing him as the living miracle began to lessen the relentless distance separating them. 

 

High-quality boots mercilessly crushed the fragile snowflakes beneath them, the prominent crunch echoing off vandalized, crumbling stone walls. 

 

Seterdahl looked significantly handsome in his everlasting beauty, glittering ice shaking in his wake and occasionally settling in silky hair. 

 

An elegant grey vest was fashionably layered upon a pastel blue pinstriped button-up, a black tie settled between the two articles. 

 

A crimson trench coat was displayed upon his broad shoulders, blowing through the icy breeze like a hero’s cape. The blood-colored fleece complimented the azure tones of his eyeballs, which were locked onto his object of affection. 

 

Affection’s ruthless grip only tightened as twenty feet became ten, each wonderful little detail of the two men becoming obvious and appreciated by one another. That was when David halted his journey of intimacy, terminating the swing of his step. 

 

X

 

Seterdahl knew better than to pressure the other man into contact, especially when the physical touch the addict experienced had always held foul intentions. It was pre-decided that Klaus would initiate the first move. The man had free will, as he was human, not a toy to be tossed around. 

 

A romantic standoff ensued, the men locking gazes as a volcano of green met a tornado of blue. The close distance provided further observation, the model catching the glistening layer of salt water overtaking emerald orbs. 

 

“Klaus, you look beautiful tonight,” he managed out, adoration flooding his undertones. At last, the brutal tension trapped within broad shoulders could ease. 

 

It was a statement as simple as that which propelled the addict forward, like a strike of black lightning in an abyss of white and blue. Voluptuous raven curls bounced as restrained teardrops broke loose of their invisible chains. 

 

In a passionate clash, a frail, damaged body met a muscular, flourishing one. The unexpected, yet desired weight knocked the model onto his arse, the liquified corpses of snowflakes seeping into the fabric of his jeans.  

 

A precious aroma of cigarettes, cheap perfume and lost dreams flooded into his nostrils while slender arms desperately clung to his body. God, he would give anything to hold this man for eternity! The warmth radiating from the junkie’s pale skin was electrifying and intoxicating simultaneously. Lonely heartbeats found a rhythm, synching as two chests met, both suffocating with tenderness. 

 

“I-I can’t believe you really came! It’s  _ really you! _ ” 

 

Hot, tear-soaked breath tickled the minute hairs upon his neck as Number Four burrowed his streaked face into the crook of Dave’s neck. Some foreign, yet obviously expensive cologne seeped into the other man’s lungs, nearly choking him in an extremely desirable way. 

 

It was not long until the waterworks began, soft, tender sobs emitting from Klaus’s rosy lips. Chipped fingernails dug into the fleece of his jacket, as his pitiful grasp evolved into a death grip. 

 

“I can’t believe you called,” an exasperated Seterdahl huffed out as an inseparable compound of sympathy and pity overtook his chest.

 

In a comforting gesture, a good-natured hand found its way up a slender neck, strong fingers intertwining in the bushel of gleaming curls. Those glamorous strands of silk were even more lustrous than the man had imagined in some distant dream. 

 

Inevitably, the junkie’s hushed lament evolved into a fit of open bawling, his anguished howls of agony piercing into Dave’s eardrum. Such a reaction led to incomprehensible babbling, unidentified words spilling between harrowing gasps. 

 

“I  _ lied!  _ I  _ lied  _ about, everything!” Hargreeves screeched, the uncharacteristic strain on his vocal cords cutting deep into the model’s chest. 

 

“Shhhh. It’s okay,” he assured into the other man’s ear while pulling him further into the warm embrace.

 

“ _ I’m a fucking liar!” _

“Klaus, look at me.” 

 

Between his frantic wails and the incessant shivering, the man doubted he would be able to do it. However, this notion was proved wrong, as a slow, steady motion brought them face to face, the reddened tips of their noses lightly brushing against one another. 

 

God, the desire to close the miniscule distance between their swollen lips coursed through David’s veins, his muscles straining against unbreakable will. Not now. Not when this precious human being was in such a vulnerable state. It certainly wouldn’t be the right thing to do! He settled for a prolonged gaze into those gem-like orbs which quivered with his wretched heartbreak. 

 

“You said you’re a liar. That makes two of us.” It was a genuine confession, crafted out of guilt, sympathy, and truth. 

 

\------

 

X

 

After a variety of coaxing methods, David had convinced the addict to sit with him in the Jaguar. The man had played on his usual mention of pneumonia, which the other easily succumbed to. 

 

By that point, Klaus was far too burnt out, emotionally and physically, to put up a fight, or even argue. His limbs went limp like those of a ragdoll as the other held him like a bride and settled him into the comforting leather seat of his exquisite vehicle. 

 

So there the two sat, silent as ever, gazing at the icy flakes gradually descended to their inevitable demise. Only moments prior, they had constructed a game of agreement, both parties willing yet hesitant. This said game was a fairly mature playoff that demanded every falsified statement be eliminated. There was only enough space for the cruel truth, which would rightfully take its place. 

 

The rules are simple:

  1. Ask a question
  2. The other will answer truthfully



 

Seterdahl had been tasked with starting the ‘event’, or rather breaking the ice established between them.

“How long?” 

 

Even in its sweet inclination, his voice had escaped in a monotone fashion, his tongue questioning why he had asked such a thing. Two beautiful glares were locked in the forward beam, not daring to look at the other. 

 

A profound sigh escaped Hargreeves’s pouty lips, an underlying hint of shame becoming obvious. “The drugs or the prostitution?” 

 

The statement lacked his usual charisma, spewing out in a dry, unamused tone, just as such a confession should. Thin fingers rested upon the center console, tapping impatiently. 

 

“Both.” 

 

Emerald eyes were gradually shrouded by darkened eyelids, while their holder prepared to dig into the wretched depths of his broken recollection. Those haunting memories were as familiar as the backs of his hands, playing out in his mind like a psychological thriller. 

 

“First hit, I was thirteen. It was just weed. Obviously, that spiraled out of control.” 

 

It was as clear as day: the inescapable agony scorching his nerves, the readiness to simply give up. The neverending pain had finally become unbearable, prompting his surrender to harmful substances. 

 

The mere thought of that  _ man  _ and that  _ house  _ was enough to send a piercing shiver down his trembling spine, beginning his brain not to return to those days of ill-treatment. 

 

Number Four’s stare had eventually drifted towards his groin, where his bony fingers fidgeted with one another in a distressing tango. 

 

“The first time I-” 

 

Ivory teeth bit into his rosy bottom lip as a profound sense of embarrassment and regret fueled a twister within his gut. 

 

“The first time I...sold my body...I was seventeen. The money I stole from my Dad had run out. I was...I was so desperate for a high. So I sold the only thing I had.” 

 

Dave, being perceptive in nature, was quick to detect the shameful drops of liquid forming behind soggy eyelids. Perhaps the manner in which his voice cracked also served as a giveaway. 

 

“Klaus. It’s okay…” 

 

An unbelievably soft hand was soon upon his, its radiating tenderness spreading through the limb as two sets of fingers entwined. 

 

“My dad always told me I’d end up being a whore.” 

 

Mid-release, his sob shapeshifted into a pathetic chuckle, granting his tears the freedom of roaming down salted cheeks. 

 

“Stop that. You’re not a whore. You have a loving heart, but it...it just got lost in the dark.” 

 

Mascara-contaminated droplets were wiped from his face using the back of his free hand, while the other’s grasp on Seterdahl only grew in intensity. 

 

“It’s your turn.”

 

X

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

It was not a bitter statement, but rather one of genuine curiosity. It was a subconscious action, but a confused glare was shot at the other man, his freshly threaded eyebrows furrowing. Some explanation was required.

 

“I’m...nothing and you’re well...you’re  _ everything _ . There’s not a thing in this world that you  _ can’t  _ have, and yet here you are chasing after a hooker. What do you want from me?” 

 

“I’m not going to allow your past to define you. I don’t care if everyone else thinks you’re ‘nothing’ because, to  _ me _ , you’re everything.” 

 

“Goddamnit, Dave! You play all your cards right and tell me whatever I want to hear. I’m not stupid, you know. You’re too good to be true. _What do you want from me?_ ” 

 

Usually, the model would be frustrated by now, but when it came to this man alone, his patience was eternal. 

 

“Am I not allowed to  _ like you for who you are?  _ I know that all those other guys just wanted to get into your pants and played this little game with you. After that, you have every right not to trust me.

I  just- I can’t describe it, Klaus. I can’t describe this scorching hot feeling that erupts in my chest whenever I lay my eyes you. I don’t know why I lose my breath whenever you laugh or smile. I can’t explain why I feel physically ill when I think about you out in the cold all by yourself. It just  _ is.”  _

 

Here he was, a scholar, a gentleman, a businessman, blushing profusely like a schoolboy with an unwavering crush. Although, the crimson blush staining his passenger's cheeks offered a bit of solace. 

 

“Okay.” 

 

The other seemed satisfied with that answer, which was the best case scenario. What was Dave to do if the truth was not good enough? 

 

“I guess it’s your turn.” 

  
  



	18. It's Hard Out Here for A Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i swear yall gonna hate reggie even more after this chapter LMFAOOO
> 
> there is hella tea in this chapter and a bit more info on our boys <3
> 
> i love dave in this chapter ngl :')

  
  


The newly established ‘game’ had surpassed any expectation the two men had held up, its success originating from the willingness of both parties. It hadn’t taken long for the lovebirds to learn an important lesson, the guilt of lying had eaten away at them simultaneously. A variety of questions were asked, some open-ended while others interrogated basic truths. Validation was desired by both beings, inspiring them to probe each statement spoken on January second.

 

“When were you born and how old are you?” David chuckled. “You’d better not say anything below eighteen.” 

 

This elicited an angelic giggle from the addict, who tucked a stray curl behind his pierced ear. 

“I was born October first, nineteen ninety-three. I’ll be twenty six this year. How about you?” 

 

“June sixth, nineteen ninety-one. I’m turning twenty-eight in a few months. Where were you born?”

 

“I was actually born in Berlin.”

 

“Of course you were, with a name like  _ Klaus _ ,” the model joked, a playfully forced German accent coating the name as he said it.  

 

“Yeah okay, Mr. ‘Born and raised in New York City.’” 

 

“You know it! All-American, baby!”” Seterdahl grinned, watching as his passenger teasingly facepalm. “So, why did your family leave Germany?” 

 

That question seemingly broke the mood of light-hearted affection, the sweet coral flush on the junkie’s cheeks faded to a deathly white. His welcoming gaze had grown withdrawn again, shifting towards his crotch in an obvious bad habit. 

 

“I was- I was adopted by a man who lived here in the States.” 

 

The underlying tone of seriousness within the other man’s voice finalized the statement, his body language seemingly declaring that specific information was the only he would be disclosing. 

 

“Oh. Okay.”  The older man tried his very best to respect the other’s wishes, his wretched and insatiable curiosity fighting him tooth and nail. Logic unfortunately lost the battle, his nosy inclination gaining control of his tongue. 

 

“Wait- was he from Germany? Krause is a German last name so-”

 

“I lied about my last name, David.” 

The sensation in his chest resembled that of being stung, but then again, that was to be expected from the merciless facts of life. The swift flash of pain subsided relatively quickly, only to be replaced with adoration. Klaus was so  _ brave  _ confronting his sins so straight on, the man unknowingly encasing a type of courage Seterdahl wished he did. 

 

“Is your first name really Klaus?” Those words were hard to say, far too fragile in connotation. The businessman feared it would be received as an accusation, possibly infuriating the other man. However, in his understanding nature, Hargreeves approached the question with maturity.

 

“Well yes- but- a-also no.” 

 

There he was, once again tripping over his own words in a strangely attractive manner. Embarrassment or shame was certainly the cause, or perhaps even a mix of both. 

 

“I  _ really  _ don’t want to get into detail, so I’m just gonna explain this as briefly as possible.” 

 

Dave nodded in agreement, totally fine with the man’s secretive aurora. It wasn’t hard to see the mention of passed times distressed the addict, quick glares of panic would fill his emerald orbs and his relentless fidgeting would only worsen.

 

“I had a lot of siblings. My- my….father, if you even want to call him that, didn’t bother to name us. So my mom ended up doing it. He always…” Klaus took a deep breath, the precious air trembling between his soft lips. 

 

Yeah. That was more than enough. Watching the most wonderful human being in existence, quivering within a silent suffering was an absolute abomination, prompting the older man to hastily put an end to the undesirable storytelling. 

 

“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it. I can tell it’s upsetting you.” 

 

His gentle hands, wearing soft, pure, skin settled upon the junkie’s skeletal forearm which was covered by a wooly black sleeve. Fingers tenderly rubbed the silky material, in a gesture of compassion. 

 

“You  _ deserve  _ to know, Dave. I- I can do this.” Shamrock irises were filled with determination, even as drying teardrops clung to thick layers of black eyelashes. 

 

“It can wait, Klaus. I..I  _ fucking hate  _ seeing you in pain.” The statement was further assured as the model delicately clutched the pale limb within his grasp. 

 

Verdant eyes rested upon the touching gesture of the other man, observing how a benevolent hand affectionately grasped one of his gaunt limbs. However, the seemingly unbreakable gaze did manage to veer, the end result locking two wandering pairs of orbs. Even if their youthful souls were to be lost for eternity, fate would forever bind them, leaving the pair to seek purpose with one another. 

 

“My father told my mother not to bother giving me a name because I wasn’t good enough for one. He always hated me, since the second he laid his cold, dead eyes on me. So I...I named myself.” 

 

Hargreeves broke the prepossessing silence with this tragic revelation, ironically a synonymous hush was all that remained in its wake. 

 

“ _ Klaus.  _ It means ‘the people’s victory.’” 

 

David did not want to let on the fact a scorching inferno of fury was fueling within him, aimed towards the pathetic excuse of a ‘family’ this man had been burdened with. This twisting, barren sensation took hold of his stomach, creating a void of never-ending darkness inside the model’s very being. 

 

So he continued on while this dreadful, empty sensation boiling beneath his vocal cords ate away at his humanity. Strength was a needed virtue to aid in the addict’s recovery, encouraging Seterdahl to eliminate any further threat to it. 

 

“You look like a Klaus,” the older man admitted, his azure eyes trailing over each perfect imperfection of the other’s flawless facial structure. 

 

X

 

There was no telling how much time had elapsed prior to their unanimous decision to enjoy a nice, warm plate of  _ fresh  _ waffles. Reality came as an icy shock when the model looked him straight in the eyes and so innocently asked, “Where’s your favorite place to get waffles?”.

 

Apparently, “I buy frozen ones from the gas station” was not a satisfactory answer, some lecture about “those artificial, preserved pieces of cardboard serving as a sorry excuse for the delicacy” was spewed out as a result. 

 

“I’m taking you to get some  _ real  _ fucking waffles, Klaus,” Dave laughed after deciding to annihilate Eggo’s attempt at the breakfast cake. 

 

“I don’t have money for that,” the addict confessed while observing a shimmering snowflake trail down the Jaguars sparkling windshield, the streaks of liquid following the flake marking its demise. 

 

“Yeah, I’m a millionaire and I’m gonna make _ you _ buy dinner. What a great idea!” 

 

That man and his charming sarcasm. 

 

“You’re so silly sometimes. Of course I’m paying.” 

 

Adoration began to burn within Number Four’s cheeks, a hot, sweet blush engulfing them. 

 

_ Silly.  _

 

It was a cruel fact that anyone else in this world would have had no hesitation in calling him  _ stupid _ , but of course Dave was an exception to that. 

 

This man’s endless sense of polite mannerisms only further humiliated Hargreeves, in a backwards way. While he knew he should just shut his mouth and accept the model’s generosity, each kind gesture only further distressed him, as if a growing debt was consuming his body. 

 

So, he offered the only thing he had to give, even with everlasting shame clawing at his internal organs.

 

“Are you sure? I have nothing to pay you back with...unless you want to...y’know-“ 

 

“No, Klaus. Please don’t finish that sentence. I already told you, I don’t want  _ payment _ . I offer because I  _ want to.” _

 

X

 

It would be a complete lie if David claimed he was not sexually attracted to the other man. Of course he was, just like any man with eyes would be. 

 

However, this newfound type of lust was not completely crafted of desire, as adoration was a cooperator. Intercourse was not longed for based on its pleasure alone, but rather, the pleasuring of one’s partner. 

 

Seterdahl had predetermined what his intentions were. If luck would be on his side, coitus between he and the other man would be of passion and longing, not just for the hell of it. 

 

Now was certainly not the time to initiate such yearning, as the addict’s wounds had been reopened in an agonizing manner. 

 

“There’s this waffle house not far from my place called Criss Cross Confections. Best fucking breakfast in the States.” 

 

Klaus had certainly perked up at the notion, childish excitement igniting within his eyes. “Can we go there?” 

 

“Hell yeah we can!” the model exclaimed while shifting the automobile’s gear to drive. A youthful thrill had began to bubble in his heart at the mere act of saying “yes” to someone who had been told “no” their entire life. 

 

With a lighthearted vibe, the journey to ‘Dave’s part of town’ as Hargreeves had so accurately called it, was smooth, and enjoyable. 

 

“I should tell you about the one time I waxed my ass with chocolate pudding!” 

 

A fit of laughter broke from the older man’s vocal cords, soft and entertained. 

 

“Of course you would do something like that.” 

 

“I don’t need my crack looking like Harambe’s, thank you very much.” 

 

“I would  _ really  _ like to hear your thought process that determined pudding was going to work like wax.” 

 

“We put it in the microwave for like ten minutes to get it hot and holy hell did it hurt!” 

 

The model facepalmed at that one, a suppressed chuckle emitting from his lips.

 

“I almost put it on the bits as well,” the other man recalled before motioning towards his crotch. 

“But after my ass had third-degree burns I had second thoughts.” 

 

“What kind of pudding was it?”

 

“Dumbass, I told you it was chocolate!” 

 

“I mean what brand?” 

 

“Oh, shit. It was those little uh..what are they called? Oh! The Snack Pack ones that come in the little cups, you know?” 

 

“Yeah, the ones my mom wouldn’t ever let me have since they are packed with sugar.  _ Those _ !” 

 

“I guess you don’t get a body like yours eating unhealthy shit.” 

 

Oh. 

 

OH MY. A crimson inferno scorched within the model’s cheeks at the realization Klaus had checked out his body. He really hoped the other man liked it…

 

“Yeah, my mom was pretty strict about my eating, but it paid off, I think.” 

 

Their flirtatious bantering continued for a duration of the ride, only to carry on within the Waffle House. 

 

“Table for two please.”

 

X

 

It was happening  _ again _ , further humiliating Hargreeves. 

 

“It” referred to the harsh glares of disapproval aimed towards the junkie. Surely that was to be expected within such a posh area of New York City, yet that conclusion failed to ease the sting. 

 

The hostess was the first of many, to wield a glare so bitter it burned into his pale skin like acid. The remaining features of her average face proceeded to morph into a scowl. 

 

“What the fuck are you looking at? I requested a table so fucking take us there.” 

 

It was Dave’s heroic voice, displaying deep, echoing octave. The addict’s heartbreak came to a screeching halt, watching the man come to his rescue for a second time. 

 

“I-I’m sorry sir. It’s just our company policy prohibits us from serving pros-“ 

 

“I want a fucking table  **_now_ ** or you can call your manager to take it up with me.” 

 

Standing in silence, Hargreeves had picked up on a few things regarding the model’s temper, observing how rage could overtake his body. The first sign, was the teeth grinding. You could hear the faint sound of the pressure if you listened hard enough, and nearly see it as his jaw would nearly throb. Another dead giveaway was his pitch. It would drastically deepen when he was provoked, likely a subconscious habit to establish dominance. 

 

Klaus almost envied that quality, well aware that under stress his tone would raise almost adorably. 

 

The panic-laced reply of the hostess broke the man out of his internal analysis. 

 

“I-I apologize, sir. I’m going to call my manager right away.” 

 

Her alarmed bronze orbs flashed one last glance at Number Four, almost begging him to intervene. 

 

“D-Dave it’s okay. Let’s just go somewhere else.” 

 

“It’s not okay, Klaus. That’s fucking bullshit and I’m gonna make sure they fucking know it.” 

 

“You’ve got to try to understand, pe-“ 

 

“Stop trying to defend them. They’re in the fucking wrong here and the asshole owner of this dump is gonna know it.”

 

His fists were slammed onto the restaurants podium in an animalistic manner, causing the woman to jump out of her skin and nearly back away. The resonating shake of the wood echoed throughout the restaurant. 

 

“David, stop! Let’s just go!” Klaus tried his best to suppress the uneasiness trembling in his vocal chords. His brain recalled the other man’s comforting gesture in the Jaguar, in which his tender hand was placed on his forearm, muscles mimicking the motion. 

 

“Please. For me?” Hargreeves was shocked at how gentle his own voice sounded in its high pitched and hushed form. 

 

The request seemingly melted the other man’s internal ice, a deep breath filling his lungs as broad shoulders eased. 

 

“It scares me that I’m physically unable to say no to you.” 

 

Seterdahl’s vocals had returned to their usual, gentle state, slightly higher in pitch. 

His now softened gaze was shifted towards the woman, who had begun to quiver ages ago. 

 

“Tell the manager not to come. We’re leaving.” 

 

Sapphire met emerald in an eternal truce, a sympathetic smile crossing the model’s lips. 

 

Muscular forearms were used to push his torso up, standing in a straight posture, when the limbs were removed from the wooden furnishing. In a confident, unphased fashion, the stunning man retreated towards the door. 

 

“T-thank you,” a barely audible female voice whispered to the addict, whos reply came in a silent, yet sorrowful smile.

 

A brief jog was needed to catch the other man, who offered his fleece-coated arm to Number Four. Gratefully, he gently clung to the warm, firm limb, following the swing of his step. 

 

“You could tame the Minotaur with that voice, Klaus.” 

  
  



	19. It Hurts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay sorry if this was a bit boring but next chapter we gonna get a flashback to Klaus's childhood which is honestly gonna be a MAJOR OOF 
> 
> this chapter includes mentions of homophobia, some sensitive language and a bit of body shaming, just wanted to warn you babies. <3
> 
> also i need yall to be honest: is this plot moving too slow cuz i feel like my dumbass needs to speed it up. hit me with that real shit in the comments. ty
> 
> god poor klaus cant catch a break idk why i hurt him so much LMAOOO

  
  
  
  
  
  


“Fuck that place. Let’s go to Better with Bacon,” David suggested while turning to the green-eyed beauty in the passenger’s seat.

 

“Sounds good to me,” the other replied, his voice hushed and easygoing as he marveled at the luxurious strip of businesses.

 

After the ‘incident’, an aura of tenseness materialized in the automobile, bringing about an uncharacteristic silence. Of course, the distaste was not aimed at one another, but rather the world in general. After all, the men had come from two entirely different lifestyles. Clashing was an inevitable end.

 

The brave-hearted Jaguar was gliding gracefully down the interstate, capturing the city lights within its skin as silence further boiled inside.

 

“Can I ask you something?”

 

Klaus turned to look at the driver, whose gaze failed to divert from the icy road. Ocean eyes were trained forward, caramel brow furrowing as a result of inner thoughts.

 

“Yeah. Go ahead,” the addict surrendered, driven by an ingrained fear of tainting this pure and newfound bond. The other man was clearly agitated, negative vibes radiating off his body like heat.

 

“Why did you defend that woman? Didn’t you see the way she was looking at you? She looked at you like you didn’t even deserve to be _alive_. You should have let me scare the shit outta her.”

 

God, he _really didn’t_ understand, but then again, why would he? His part of the city had shamed and exiled anyone who failed to live up to their harsh standards, while he somehow broke away from that mindset.

 

Prudence prompted Hargreeves to craft his response carefully, a drawn-out sigh emitting through an unanswered silence.

 

“It’s a normal reaction, Dave. It just comes with the profession.”

 

“That doesn’t make it right, you know. This is why I _fucking hate_ everyone around here.”

 

The model’s response escaped in an extremely disgusted fashion, each word dripping with abhorrence as he spewed out the sentence like an enraged beast.

 

“I’m sure that’s not true...you’re just frustrated-”

 

“Doesn’t it hurt you, Klaus? Doesn’t it hurt when complete strangers disregard you just because of how you look or choose to live? It’s not fucking fair! You shouldn’t have to put up with that utter _bullshit!”_

 

A glare of discontent was shot at the younger man, underlying scratches of pity peering out from streaks of azure. A transparent layer of liquid had been cast upon his orbs, its reflective quality capturing specks of light within.

 

“Of course it hurts, but after a while, you just get used to it. Life isn’t fair, David. It sucks and it’s discouraging and you feel like shit every day but I’ve never known anything else. This is just how things are for me. I know it’s hard for you to accept but it’s gonna keep happening, and you can’t be getting into fights every five minutes.”

 

“Yes I can and I _will._ I don’t give a shit who it is. Anyone who disrespects you like that deserves to get their ass beat.”

 

This man’s ceaseless determination grew exhausting quite quickly, Number Four giving in perhaps too easily. “Can we...not talk about this anymore? It’s kind of stressing me out and I know you aren’t gonna let me smoke in this nice ass car.”

 

“We’re not too far from the waffle house. You can take a smoke break when we get there. I’m sorry for being so aggressive with you. I just can’t help it, you know? People just really push my buttons sometimes.”

 

This drew a chuckle out of the junkie, whose slender finger began to apply pressure to a tiny black switch, the gleaming window crafted of exquisite material rolling down steadily as a response.

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

“Klaus, I just really hope you know that you don’t deserve the mistreatment. I meant what I said. I would beat the shit out of anybody for you.”

 

“Oh geez, Dave, don’t get all sappy on me. It’s gonna give me a boner.”

 

An amused expression was painted across the model’s flawless face, as he had finally parted with some of his internal fury and succumbed to the ambiance of casualness.

 

“If you get a boner then I’m gonna get one and probably crash this car so you’d better not.”

 

“The paramedics are going to find us dead in here with raging erections. How wonderful!”

 

“Wouldn’t they like, soften if we died?”

“Let’s _not_ find out.”

 

A breathtaking choir of two harmonious waves of laughter resonated within the vehicle, its sweet reverberation mimicking the alluring sound of music. It was certainly a relief to reestablish the smooth sailing aura that was common between the two men.

 

As an omen of things to come, the addict found his insatiable craving of nicotine gradually decomposing, the bubbly feeling of devotion taking its place. Smoking a cigarette would mean leaving Dave’s side for a prolonged period of time, a price Number Four was not willing to pay.

Just being near the other man was enough to get him high, like a new, unstoppable type of street drug that would forever fill his needs.

 

“We’re here finally,” Seterdahl announced as a silvery key was confidently removed from the ignition. A moment was taken to inhale the sweet, sugary aroma of waffles and sticky maple syrup that emitted from the nearby structure.

 

“Are we in heaven?” Klaus playfully asked while absorbing a whiff of the delectable night air.

 

“According to my religious aunt we're going to Hell for being gay so I guess not.”

 

“That’s some shit my dad would say.”

 

“Fuck them.”

 

“Hell yeah. Fuck them.”

 

In their childish elation, the two high-fived, the playful sound ringing within their eardrums. The reverberating noise of flesh hitting flesh echoed off the frosted windshield of the mechanical brute.

 

\---

 

Fortunately, there were no problems at Better with Bacon, much to Dave’s relief. Of course, he _enjoyed_ protecting the most precious thing known to man, yet he feared the fervid nature of his aggression would create a dreadful rift between them.

 

Surely, the most terrifying scenario would entail Klaus developing a mistrust based on a reasonable assumption that such unmanageable fury would be aimed _at him_. Although, Seterdahl was well aware that even in an intense wave of rage, he would **_never_** lay a hand on the other man. His wrath had not targeted the addict himself, but rather at anyone who dare fuck with that dear boy.

  


Confusion was a customary emotion within this relationship, as the model often found himself questioning how a mere human being could make anything look absolutely adorable. His affectionate gaze was trained on the boy across from him, whose glare drifted around the laminated menu.

 

God, he was so frickin’ _cute._ Every miniscule detail the older man observed only deepened his ever-growing ardor for Klaus. From the way, he would bite his bottom lip when in heavy thought, to his habit of picking at chipping black nail polish, each action grew more and more endearing.

 

“What are you getting?”

 

The sweet voice broke him out of his internal dazing.

 

“I was gonna get ‘ The Waffle Worshipper’. It’s basically like four waffles with an assortment of berries and lemon-mint syrup.”

 

The other only hummed in response.

 

“Get whatever you want. I don’t care if you want one of everything.”

 

“I’m gonna ask the waitress a few questions when she comes. If that’s okay.”

 

Like clockwork, a lean young woman strolled up to their cozy, corner booth, a wide, bright smile across her face.

 

“Good evening! I’m Ali, I’ll be serving you today. Can I start you off with some drinks?”

 

“I’ll take a coffee, please,” the businessman decided while observing the way her chin-length, chocolate colored curls gleamed beneath the glow of the lamp.

 

“I’ll have and water, and uh- I have a few questions.”

 

“What can I help you with, sir?”

 

“So I noticed pretty much all of the options on here are over four hundred calories. Is there any way I can cut down an order to be closer to one hundred?”

 

In unison, Dave and Ali shot confused looks at the raven-haired beauty, although, the woman was quick to restore her polite grin.

 

“I certainly can, sir. What dish were you considering?”

 

“Wait-hold up,” the model started, lifting his hand at the (obviously uncomfortable) waitress.

“Klaus, what the hell are you doing?”

 

A completely innocent gaze was shot his way, confusion lingering within shamrock irises.

 

“What do you mean?”

 

This guy _had to be_ messing around. He was literally malnourished, and somehow complaining about calorie intake.

 

“Why are you cutting out calories? You’re so thin, you need to gain some weight.”

 

“I’m really not. I’m kind of chubby, plus it’s a lot of carbs.”

 

“I-I’ll come back in a few while you two decide…” the brunette hesitantly stated, backing away from the table, discomfort finally getting the best of her.  

 

“Please, _please,_  tell me you’re joking. I can literally see your bones, you have no fat on your body.”

 

“It’s okay, Dave. You don’t have to lie about it. I know I’m overweight.”

 

His stomach dreadfully dropped at that one. Every fiber of his humanity prayed this was some cruel joke, crafted by the devilish angel across the table.

 

“Are you serious, Klaus? Please don’t take this the wrong way but- you’re..you’re extremely underweight, like to a point where it’s unhealthy.”

 

“I’m really not, though.”

 

“If you think _you’re_ chubby, then I must be, like, obese to you.”

 

A frustrated sigh was drawn from Four’s burnt lungs, although secretly the model thought _he_ should be the only sighing.

 

“There’s a big difference between muscle and fat. You’re muscular, not ‘obese’.”

 

Their ceaseless bickering continued in a hushed volume, up until Ali came back, holding a maroon coffee cup and a glass of water. She had clearly taken the time to restore her professional mannerism, acting as if nothing had happened.

 

“Are you two ready to order?”

 

The junkie’s swollen, rosy lips had parted slightly at the question as if to speak, but Seterdahl immediately cut him off.

 

“Two orders of _The Waffle Worshipper,_ please.”

 

“David, no. I don-”

 

 **“** **_Klaus, enough._ ** **”**

 

There was certainly nothing _enjoyable_ regarding the tone he just used. Even as a piercing sting impaled his heart, he knew it was the right thing to do. Hell, his entire life the man was surrounded by “skinny” people, making him well aware of the drastic difference between thin and starved.  

 

His internal bleeding was only worsened by the submissive look in those emerald eyes, which happened to be complemented by tiny dashes of fear. There was no doubt the waitress would see him as some control freak, but all he could do was bear the consequences of doing what was right. Klaus needed to eat. He was so obviously underweight his body was almost painful to look at.

 

After Ali had retreated back to the kitchen, the two men sat in silence, both gazes averted from one another.

 

“I know I keep saying this, but _I’m sorry_.”

 

“It’s fine, I guess.”

  



	20. I'm Caged Inside this Shit Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> not even gonna lie guys, this chapter gets kinda dark so I'll just start off with warnings.
> 
> okay theres pretty subtle emotional abuse with this, along with slut and body shaming. There are a few derogatory words used in the body shaming so please beware. this also focuses on an eating disorder, specifically bulimia so please read with caution <3 sorry if this got a bit serious. 
> 
> ill make next chapter a bit more fluffy to make up for it T-T
> 
> reginald hargreeves? thats gonna be a NO from me dawg

  
  
  
  
  
  


Time is an abyss which stretches boundlessly into the expanse of human existence. Its eternal passing provides opportunity after opportunity, which come to be linked with one another. Some have claimed the act of choosing is what makes one alive, while others claim your path was chosen by some unknown higher power.  

 

Fate was but a form of mockery to Klaus, as his accursed destiny constantly repeated itself. Heaven knows he  _ tried  _ to change things, to change every single aspect about himself. However, each decision seemed to result in the same inevitable ending, further proving the idea he couldn’t change. 

 

This brutal cycle had detained him for over a decade. It very much resembled a cruel movie trapped within a repetitive loop, playing over and over until it was worn to bits. In his hopeless youth, the boy had bent over backwards to fulfill his father’s ceaseless demands. Of course his rebellious nature initially prompted a fight, consequently ending in a ruthless form of punishment. 

 

Number Four had grown tired of that vicious pattern quite quickly, finally surrendering to the merciless disposition of Reginald Hargreeves. Yet, as some ferocious God would have it, submission yielded the same consequences as disobedience. 

 

Day after day, year after year, the addict found himself imprisoned in similar situations. Whether it was wandering the streets higher than a kite, capitulating to the back-breaking demands of a stranger’s touch or drinking his pain away, a select set of events were all that created his pitiful life. 

 

Perhaps, that is why he found himself so innately drawn to Dave, who broke the set standards of his vicious lifestyle. Prior to their meeting, the junkie’s existence had been crafted of the same chapters repeating endlessly. However, this newfound bond was like an entirely new book, filled with hope and uncertainty. 

 

Unfortunately, habits that had been established for such prolonged periods of time were difficult to break, if breakable at all. That’s why Klaus found himself in an all-too-familiar situation at Better with Bacon: sitting in a chemical-scented restroom, pathetically dry heaving over a toilet. 

 

His skeletal hand, displaying pale skin littered with calluses, relentlessly slammed into his stomach as he gagged on his own breath. There was no doubt his greasy makeup had smudged in a chaotic manner, a smokey eye that would set off the fire alarm. 

 

The physical aid was quite helpful in inducing vomiting, but Number Four certainly could have instigated the action using his mind alone. Anxiety was scorching his veins, creating a twisting, fretful vortex within the pit of his stomach. His fragile body screamed “ _ Emergency!”  _ while his brain searched frantically to determine what the situation actually was. 

 

This fit of panic and suffocation had originated at the table, when Ali had brought two exquisite plates of breakfast delicacies. It was certainly true that the aroma of fresh, natural fruit with well-balanced sugar components smelled absolutely delectable when mixed with the cakey scent of the ironed treat. 

 

On the other hand, the thought of actually  _ eating  _ the dish was enough to make Klaus sick. His shrunken stomach began flipping uncontrollably at that thought, imagining the burdensome guilt that would gnaw at him if he gave into temptation. 

 

A genius was not required to see that David had a strapping and fit body, or as society's beauty standards would call it,  _ ideal _ . God, he for sure thought Hargreeves was an absolute  _ pig,  _ prompting the younger man to observe, rather than eat his meal. 

 

But, much to his dismay, Seterdahl would not let him off the hook that easily. 

 

“Eat, Klaus, don’t just stare at it.”

 

His internal illness only worsened at that, embarrassment intertwining with self-hate and fear to create an atrocious rift of abhorrence. 

 

“I’m not hungry.” 

 

“Yes you are and you know it. Please don’t make me force you. Do you think I want to shove food down your throat? Because I certainly don’t.”

 

Surely the other man demanded this out of pity: pity at how  _ disgusting  _ Klaus’s body was. He couldn’t even imagine what the model was thinking, and he wasn't sure he’d even like to know. 

Dave was probably wondering why anyone would pay to sleep with him, or why his whole body was so wretched, but his deeply ingrained sense of civility would prohibit him from voicing those thoughts. 

 

“You can’t  _ make me  _ eat. I said I’m not hungry, okay? Can’t you just lay off?” 

 

“I don’t care if you’re ‘not hungry.’ You are literally  _ starved _ , so miss me with that bullshit. I have no idea what the hell has gotten into you, but I know for a fact you need to eat.”

 

“Stop saying that. I’m not starved, I’m overweight and you’re just trying to be nice.”

 

A frustrated sigh had escaped the other man’s smooth, rosy lips, clearly derived from the fact an aggressive approach was not working. It was almost concerning how effectively he switched tactics. 

 

“Please eat Klaus. I’m worried about you. I know you don’t see it, but it’s so obvious you’re unhealthily thin.  _ Please.  _ I would literally do anything to get you to have even one waffle.” 

 

Those damned puppy-dog eyes began crumbling the addict’s resolve, trembling with genuine care. The sea within his sapphire irises had calmed, eternally fretting over his health. Intimidation rarely worked on Number Four, yet just like everyone else,  _ love  _ made him weak. 

 

With the fight within being smothered by each passing second, Hargreeves resorted to old faithful. A well crafted, ingenious lie that would relieve the model from his burden.

 

“ _ Fine.  _ I’ll have one. Can you just- just not look at me while I eat?” 

 

A truce had finally been agreed upon, prompting the addict to keep up his end of the deal, which he  _ kinda  _ did. He had finished eating one of the cakes, just as promised, before slipping through the cracks to concoct his sly scheme. 

 

“Hey, Dave, I’ll be back in a minute. I’m gonna go to the bathroom before we leave.” 

 

“Okay, hon. It’s in the far back corner. I’ll see you in a few then.” 

 

So now, he sat, vomiting up the decomposed remains of the best waffle he had ever eaten into a bleach-reeking toilet. His body lurched forward painfully, as a prolonged gag escaped his throat, the sweetened flavor of maple syrup and fresh fruit grazed over his tongue once again. 

 

It had been so much more tolerable back then, when he actually had a gag reflex. Two fingers down the throat and dinner would be free to go. Unfortunately his ‘profession’ had gradually worn down this natural reflex, bringing about demanding circumstances as a result. His stomach was littered with bruises from incessant punching, although they faded relatively quickly. 

 

How had it come to this? 

 

God, how could he forget? 

 

Of course, he knew where these behaviors had originated from.

 

**_Ten years ago….._ **

 

Reginald had never permitted Klaus to eat lunch with the Academy kids. He preached about the notion of separate but equal, although it was so obviously contradicted. Instead, Four was doomed to live alone in his sorry excuse for a bedroom, that remained windowless within the dark clutches of a basement. 

 

A far more appropriate name for his steel-walled space would be a  _ cell,  _ which was constantly freezing, and intimidating. With time, comfort emerged from the shadows, as age exposed the reality that the remaining Hargreeves had forsaken him. 

 

The date and time were unknown factors, although the boy would agree with a statement that the fateful day had began like all others. He sat in his cage, clutching a hardcover sketchbook while his right hand scribbled thick black lines onto the firm paper. It would be safe to say that book was his childhood best friend. 

 

Those off-white pages were painted with every aspect of the boy’s soul, from drawings, to writing to lyrics. Each page was appropriately filled to all four corners, as a conservation effort. His father would assuredly refuse to buy him another, thus that precious chunk of paper was the only thing he had.  

 

It was far too dark in here; it  _ always  _ was. Through the wavering warm hue of candlelight, emerald eyes could make out a few of the roughly sketched lines which would mend together and create a self-portrait. Of course, the only catch was the thick, damning “X” scratched over his eyeballs. The masterpiece was nearly completed, the splintering wooden pencil gliding across the drawing, leaving faded grey streaks. 

 

Surely his concentration would have lasted eternally if it hadn’t been interrupted by the ear-piercing screech of a rusted, metal wheel turning. A sound that had once symbolized freedom had only grown despicable as years went by, signifying he would be thrown to the wolves. 

 

“Here’s your lunch, dear. I made grilled cheese today, I know you like it.” 

 

It was Grace, in her sweet, blissful naivety, following her programmed motherly instincts. An imperishable smile was displayed on her mechanical face, exposing flawless white teeth. Shamrock orbs trailed down her extended arm, which wore a silky white button up, and settled upon the plate she held out. 

 

His brow naturally furrowed. This was strange. It was literally  _ half a sandwich _ . Usually there was some sort of snack accompanying an _ entire _ grilled cheese, such as pretzels or apples, but those had disappeared just like everything else he ever came to like.  

 

“Thanks, Mom?” 

 

The possibility of a malfunction or even a virus was ever present, prompting the boy to remain silent, not wishing to push the woman if she was somehow damaged. Maybe he’d ask Pogo later. 

 

“Of course, sweetie. I’ll see you in a bit.”

 

Just as quickly as she had appeared, she had receded into the light, leaving Klaus with the resonating sound of her high heels tapping away and the starving twilight. 

 

By dusk, his artistic statement had been completed, along with his miniscule proportion of lunch, leaving him eager for some sustenance. He’d pathetically resulted to gnawing at crumbs left upon the plate for the five and a half hour span between the two meals. 

 

Desperation allowed the boy to find beauty in all things, like the sharp noise of an aged metal door opening, even with the knowledge he’d be forced to confront those who shunned him on a regular basis. As a little sliver of light peeked through the relentless darkness, the boy had internally thanked his lucky stars. 

 

“It’s time for dinner, Four darling.” 

 

Dinner. The only meal in which he was allowed to eat outside of his lonesome prison. With this newfound elation, he jumped up, mouth watering at the mere idea of something  _ edible.  _

 

Holy hell, the concrete basement floor was absolutely frigid against the fragile skin on the bottom of his feet! He nearly jogged to the lift, hastily rushing through the damp tunnel that served as the only obstacle. 

 

A brief moment later, he was accompanied by his mother, standing by his side within the soggy elevator. Two gazes were locked in a forwards glare, refusing to break away from the predetermined trail. An occasional streak of golden light would catch upon his body, dripping down each inch of his vertical form, while a soft hum radiated from the electric power source of the conveyor, its meager vibrations barely perceivable to the human ear. 

 

Moments later, the two had reached the ground floor, Grace sliding open the rusting metal grate with ease. The woman took lead, stepping out of the lift and heading towards the rather intimidating dining room. 

 

The familiar sound of Herr Carlson’s monotone voice bounced off the walls, emitted from the hushed radio. For a while, the heavy, resonating thumps of weight upon wood stairs overcame the static chatter, marking his sibling’s arrival. 

 

In a set, rhythmic pattern, the assortment of children aligned themselves accordingly. On one side: Luther, Diego and Five. The other: Allison, Klaus and Ben. At the head, across from Sir Hargreeves was Vanya. 

 

A brief period of waiting was to be, as they anticipated the arrival of that human monstrosity, who would permit them to sit and eat. The seven younglings stood behind their respective seats, shadowed gazes locked down, although Allison and Luther would occasionally share glances. 

 

That was one of the few moments in Number Four’s life where the sight of his father actually sparked a sense of joy, rather than hopelessness.  _ Finally,  _ the man had retreated from his study, the light tapping of his expensive shoes carrying themselves to the table.  

 

A unanimous wave of relief cast over the seven kids, who all longed to sink their teeth into some sustenance. Reginald had taken his rightful place at the head of the table, which sported a throne-like chair when he gave the desired command. 

 

“Sit.” 

 

His icy, unloving voice boomed throughout the room, scratching at the wallpaper, while the children hastily got comfortable. Simultaneously, Grace began placing exquisite China upon the table, which was covered in the finest prepared foods. 

 

Klaus sat in mouth-watering anticipation, orbs following his mother’s movements like a puppy’s would follow a treat. Excitement pleasantly pooled and boiled within the pit of his stomach as a plate was sat in front of Ben, its aroma a dead giveaway to its delicious nature. Thank heavens he was next!

 

However, his elation was short-lived, as when his enthusiastic stare became trained on his dish, a tightly wound knot had formed within his gut.  _ There was barely any food on it.  _ A stressed-based pressure began to form behind the pale skin of his face, as he further examined the substances before him. 

 

Quivering eyes frantically shot towards his sibling’s plates, which had been adequately filled and held far more than his. A visual estimation concluded his proportion was about one third the size of the other children’s.

 

_ What the hell? _

 

This new information furthered his doubts about the lunch fiasco being some sort of malfunction, as Grace was clearly functioning properly. His heart began palpitating at such an intense level it resembles a painful jerk within his body, rather than a smooth, repetitive beat. 

 

“Why is my portion so small?” 

 

Fourteen multi-colored eyeballs shot his way, just as shocked as he was at the sound of his own voice. The clinking of silver and glass had ceased momentarily, as the man of the house lifted his head to speak with those cold, dead orbs.

 

“Talking at the table is not permitted, Number Four.” 

 

The boy’s desperation and confusion only worsened at the response, his shallow breath already beginning to strangle him from within. He wanted  _ answers.  _ Grace was incapable of masterminding this, leaving that man as the only remaining suspect. 

 

“Everyone else’s is normal sized. What did I do this time?” 

 

A loud, sharp  _ clank _ , sliced through the silence as glass trembled atop of hard, glossed wood. The firm handle of Reginald’s knife slammed ruthlessly onto the furnishing, a collective flash of panic seizing the room. 

 

“It is not a matter of what you  _ do,  _ Number Four. It is a matter of what you  _ do not  _ do. Your siblings train on a regular basis, while you sit around doing God knows what.” 

 

“So you’re basically punishing me for not having powers?” 

 

By now, Klaus was sick and tired of being  _ compared.  _ That’s all it ever was nowadays: your siblings this, your siblings that. Regardless of how much effort he spilled into his endeavors, the boy knew he would never and could never be one with the Academy kids. Number Four was simply who he was, although he was heavily pressed to be some cheap replica of his brothers. 

 

“It is not a punishment, child. Those in the Academy have grown muscles through extensive physical work, while you’ve only grown  _ fat.  _ Thus, your proportions have been decreased by two thirds.”

 

_ Fat.  _ His stomach nearly imploded at that brutal title, and an all-too-familiar burn struck his nostrils and cheeks. There were far too many glares branding his skin at that moment, from Five’s one of annoyance to Ben’s one of pity. A strained effort to keep his trembling breath silent was made as a sting marked the appearance of his emerald’s salty liquid. 

 

“Besides, you’d certainly need to drop a few pounds if you plan on carrying your slutty behavior into adulthood. Any sensible man would not want to sleep with a  _ pig.”  _

 

Suddenly, the longing to eat was eradicated, like the flip of a switch. His gut was now pulsing, begging to expel some of this entrapped agony, while his throat began to close, choking on the pill of self-loathing. 

 

God, his siblings would laugh at him if he cried, but his bitter tears endlessly grew in strength. White teeth began to sink into the fragile flesh of his swollen bottom lip, drawing blood at the contact. His nose had become his body’s main source of oxygen, as he feared opening his mouth would only release the series of pathetic wails and whimpers that threatened to escape. 

 

A newfound pressure began to build within his head he suppressed his overflow of emotions as if a volcano would erupt and his own crimson blood would run out of his nose like scorching lava. 

 

“ _ Shutupshutupshutup!”   _ His conscience roared as a sniffle nearly escaped through his stinging nostrils and seized his already shallow breath. It was an incident this simple that completely annihilated his desire to eat. 

 

Klaus’s hands shook consistently as lithe fingers clutched silver utensils, pushing around the assortment of meat and vegetables on his wretched plate. The thin, gleaming tongs of a fork lightly poked at a chunk of beef, the thought of placing it anywhere  _ near  _ his mouth was a gruesome thought. 

 

The chaotic scraping sound of metal blades against glass plates had continued as the other seven Hargreeves devoured their well-prepared meal. Oh he was going to get so damn  _ high  _ after this. Forget higher than a kite, his altitude would surpass the planet’s atmosphere, creating a wonderful, blissful numbness. Of course his inevitable crash would come, and his broken mind would crash back into this shit reality, where he would ceaselessly bawl until his body ached.

 

The boy’s impatience continued to devour him, watching in silent pain as his “family” ate at an agonizingly slow pace. However, even after the others had reached the end of their high-quality meal, his plans were thwarted in the most inhumane manner possible. 

 

“Number Four, you are not to be excused until you’ve eaten.”

 

“But you just said I’m fa-”

 

“I proposed a diet, not starving yourself.” 

 

A final look of repulsion was shot at the boy, before Sir Reginald Hargreeves began his prim and proper stroll towards the main staircase, once again abandoning him. 

 

The only who remained was Grace, who was collecting the dirtied dishes from the table in her artificial elation. With no one remaining to unfairly judge his every move, the addict roughly shoved his plate away from his chest, allowing his head to rest in his arms atop the glazed table.

 

Klaus then bawled his eyes out. His unrelenting lament ripped from his dry throat, as a waterfall of heartbroken teardrops raced down his reddened cheeks. Could he just curl up and  _ die  _ already? 

 

A moment later, a synthetic hand was on the back of his head, tiny fingers twirled within his raven curls. 

 

“Four, darling. I can tell you’re upset. I’ll make some cookies.”

 

With his temper running short, the boy responded in an uncharacteristic manner, ramming his thinning hands against the carved wood furnishing. “Your damn cookies aren’t going to help! They’re the reason I’m so fat to begin with!” 

 

That night, Klaus sat at that table for three and a half hours after the meal had initially ended, with his Mother continuously encouraging him to eat. Of course, this effort was to no avail, as that fateful incident would spiral out of control for the next ten years. 

 

Number Four had then established a vicious cycle, in which he’d hide his lunch in a coat pocket and throw it out on the way to dinner. At the table, he would spend a majority of the time cutting his small meal into the tiniest pieces possible. As his siblings proceeded to finish, he would swiftly shove the food down his throat, only to vomit it when excused. 

 

That’s why he was  _ here.  _ Twenty-five with a horrible sense of self-esteem. He knew not to dwell for too long, as prolonged periods in the restroom would draw suspicion. 

 

Klaus concealed this shameful secret for an entire decade and he knew he could sure as hell do it again. 

  
  



	21. Drop that Phone, Sleep on the Floor, Dream about Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> fuck sorry this took so damn long OOF i had a few personal matters to attend to but ill try to keep updating as fast as I can!
> 
> this is kinda a boring chapter not even gonna lie, but it's a fluffy one, to make up for the major OOF that was the last chapter!
> 
> also sorry if the end is a bit shitty i was lowkey just desperate to finish this because it took so long and life was whooping my ass!
> 
> :')

David certainly would have remained in a deep state of slumber if it wasn’t for the twinkling slivers of sunlight that peeked through the feathery layer of clouds. Patiently, ocean blue eyes were opened, adjusting to the intense natural light that spilled into his living room.

 

Enlightening vision revealed he had passed out on his fluffy white loveseat, adorned in his clothes from the previous evening. His gaze trailed to his left, where a heavenly shroud of white luminescence rested atop a green-eyed beauty.

 

A fiery sting had ignited within the models cheeks as he observed sleep’s effects on the other man, who lay sprawled on the couch. Awake, Klaus was an absolute doll, yet somehow managed to increase his fairness while in a state of dreaming.

 

An aura of tranquility emitted from his resting body, which was always so tense when conscious. White specks of illumination clung to his thick black eyelashes, which originated from his gently closed eyelids. For once, he didn’t look so _drained_ and _exhausted_ , but rather relieved. Innocence leaked out of his body, which looked so unbelievably pure in the light of day.

 

A few articles of his usual attire had gone missing, such as his shoes, which had been hastily kicked off at the door. That revealed his skeletal feet, which were just as fleshless as his slender hands, the nails upon his toes painted a jet black. However, he refused to part with his iconic jacket, which was flung over his chest like a blanket.

 

Last night had proved to be extremely wonderful, only furthering the idea that the addict was _human_ . A long, meaningful set of conversations left the junkie seeming much more alive, so much more _real._

 

Seterdahl had learned a lot about the other man, although his past remained a secret. His favorite drink was a Bloody Mary, his favorite color was black (quite fittingly). Somehow it was revealed he had a choking fetish, which certainly enticed Dave on an entirely new level. Apparently he had six siblings, whose ages he did not reveal. He held an innate love for art, in all forms, and a strange loathing towards the number four.

 

If life permitted, he would remain in that loveseat all day, reflecting on the secrets shared between them, and occasionally glancing at the couch, watching in adoration as Klaus succumbed to his peaceful slumber. However, instead of the couch, his gaze became fixed on the clock. Six o’ seven am. Work required his presence, forcing him to face the reality that his wish would not be granted.

 

His body was unsurprisingly sore from remaining in such an unnatural position for a prolonged period of time. He didn’t mind though, as he would be content sleeping anywhere as long as he knew Klaus was by his side.

 

***

It was seven fifteen by the time Dave had showered, shaved and dressed himself in a tuxedo. A stroll into the living room revealed the other man hadn’t moved an inch, his body still strangely contorted to fit onto the sofa. Surely every inch of him would ache when awoken.

It would only be reasonable to move the addict to somewhere more suitable for such deep, extended sleep, which prompted the model to stand before the cushioned furnishing.

 

Usually, he’d have no hesitation about physical contact with another human being, but for some unexplainable reason, his heart was pounding in his chest, tearing through his bloodstream with a profound sense of uncertainty.

 

Perhaps it stemmed from Klaus’s striking vulnerability, or his frail body, with decaying bones like brittle. He was much like a vase, breathtakingly beautiful, yet so easy to shatter. Seterdahl found himself paralyzed by an irrational fear, a fear that laying his finger upon that pale glass-like skin would cause the man to disintegrate into nothing.  

 

However, the mere sight of his internal peace inspired Dave to further its strength and allow the other to capitulate to its sweet embrace. Cautiously, trembling fingertips brushed against the warm fabric of the addicts coat sleeve, trailing up the length of his slender arm. Their gentle movement halted just below the man’s shoulder blades, as his hand gently wrapped around the expanse of his narrow back. His other hand was simultaneously tucked beneath Klaus’s knees, providing a steady grip. God, it was like lifting a _feather_ or a _child._ His body was so shockingly light, in a way no grown mans’ should ever be.

 

This sudden movement caused the younger man to stir, a barely audible grunt escaping his throat while his head rested against Dave’s muscular shoulder.

 

“Klaus, it’s okay. It’s just me, go back to sleep.”

 

It was clear he was not going to challenge his long-desired rest, as he quickly fell back beneath its shield of pleasantries.

 

Dave transported the addict to his bedroom, where his freshly made California king bed and cotton-smelling sheets patiently waited to be disheveled. His scrawny body was laid atop the silky layers of bedding, his limp limbs falling gracefully upon the mattress.

 

“Hmmm...what’s going on?”

 

A bubble of affection popped within the model’s heart, glorious adoration contaminating his bodily fluids, spreading like dye within a glass of water until it reigned supreme. The junkie’s groggy state had unexpected effects upon his voice, creating a delightful morning rasp which coated each word.

 

“I’ve gotta go to work, I’ll be home later, okay? Sleep as long as you’d like.”

 

“Where am I?”

 

“Well, let’s see. You’re currently on planet Earth, in the state of New York, which is home to New York City, which is where my condo is, where you’re in my bedroom and laying on my bed.”

 

“Mmm, shut up, smartass. It’s too early for this shit.”

 

Dave chuckled at the addict’s state of adorable irritation, while reaching towards the end of the bed, where a spare blanket lay. The checkered design was quite pleasing to the eyes, as the white and black wool contrasted in an aesthetic manner. A moment later the quilt was draped upon Klaus’s body, protecting him from the ruthless grip of winter.

 

A glance at his gleaming Rolex watch revealed the best course of action would require he begin his journey to work. He walked towards the door, allowing himself one final sight of that precious man before departing,

 

“Sweet dreams, Klaus.”

 

“Fuck off.”

 

A humorous grin was branded upon his face, as he made his way into the kitchen to snatch his briefcase, trenchcoat and one of the junkie’s shoes. He’d certainly have to run a few errands after work.

 

X

 

***

 

When Klaus’s  sleep-burdened green eyes slowly opened, it revealed he was somewhere foreign. Perhaps the strongest sensation within his body was the warm shroud laying atop of him, heavy and snug. His hip bone sunk into a comforting abyss of memory foam, along with the rest of his body.

 

For a brief moment, he thought he may have died, as this newfound sense of luxury seemed divine. However, he was grounded by a mere breath, where he inhaled a sweet, wonderful and familiar scent.

 

The entire bed held the delightful aroma of _Dave._ It was a scent that provided a profound sense of peace and certainty: certainty that everything was going to be okay. Manly, yet kind, it was strong enough to burn one’s nostrils in the most pleasurable type of pain.

His torso was gradually lifted from the mattress, allowing him to sit up and observe the exquisite room. An overbearing quantity of sparkling daylight was allowed entry through a wall to his left, which was entirely crafted of glass. This window-wall provided a stunning view of New York City.

 

The wandering gaze eventually fell upon the bed, groggy eyes following the enticing pattern of black and white squares sewn into the heavy wool quilt which engulfed his lower half. A thousand questions raced through his half-asleep mind, causing his brain to feel more like a brick, seeping into the depths of his skull.

 

Was he alone? Where was Dave? What time was it?

 

Unfortunately, all he knew for certain was his body felt _wrong._ He needed a high and as quickly as possible. His stomach was twisting and flipping as if it was a gymnast, while his limbs trembled in desperation. A hand was reached into his coat pocket, fingertips feeling around for his prized possession: a little bag filled with blue pills. It was quickly retrieved, two of the capsules spilling into his quivering palm, before he popped them into his mouth. An exasperated sigh of relief was emitted from his lungs, as he had once again found his relief. Two would be enough to calm his nerves, which were shot at this point.

Even with his dear substances back in his bloodstream, his insatiable curiosity continued to eat at his mind, prompting him to leave the bedroom. He stood up carefully, stretching his tightened muscles which experienced a dull ache, before strolling out the door. Perhaps the front room would be his best bet.

 

The condo was relatively quiet, except for the light tapping of his bare feet against hardwood floor as he walked down a darkened, yet comforting hallway. He emerged from the darkness, walking into the front room, where scorching sunlight consumed his body.

 

“Klaus, you’re finally awake.”

 

Green eyes shot towards the kitchen, where they fell upon the other man, sitting gracefully at his island. A pad of paper lay on the granite countertop, while a variety of colored pencils remain scattered throughout the surface. To the man’s left was a series of boxes, wrapped in metallic paper of numerous colors.

 

“Oh... yeah. Hi, Dave.”

 

“I’d say good morning but it’s three in the afternoon.”

 

A prolonged sigh was emitted from the junkie’s lungs, as he made his way over towards the kitchen.

 

“Can I have something to drink?”

 

“Yeah. There’s a lot of shit in the fridge. Take what you want.”

 

With that, his pale hands clutched the chilled handles to the stainless steel refrigerator and giving a firm tug. An artificial white illumination enclosed his body, as did an expected burst of frozen air. There certainly was a variety of drinks and sustenance in the fridge, however, his dry throat encouraged him to grab the first thing he saw, which was a bottle of Fiji water.

 

“What are you drawing?” He asked before turning towards the other man.

 

“I’m going through some designs for Victor’s Secret’s next lingerie series.”

 

Number Four only hummed in response before strutting over to the opposite end of the island, sitting across from Dave, whose gaze lifted from the pad of paper and landed upon him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his perfectly manicured fingers crawling up the side of the metallic wrapped boxes, before sliding the gleaming tower between them.

 

“These are for you.”

 

“For _me?_ What’s the occasion?”

 

“There is no ‘occasion.’ I bought them just because.”

 

“Uhh- a-are you sure?”

 

“Stop being humble and just open them already!”

 

Klaus merely glared at the three boxes sitting upon the countertop, observing the wonderful wrapping paper. The box on the very bottom of the stack was quite large and rectangular, although it wasn’t very tall. A jade green paper covered every square inch of the supposed present, glittering beneath the twinkling rays of sunlight. The box atop of the green was slightly smaller, although similar in shape. This one was finely concealed by a royal purple paper, seemingly to keep the theme of cool colors. As for the final one, its size was synonymous to that of an average shoe box, while a shimmering layer of cyan paper engulfed it.

 

“Which one do I open first?”

 

“It doesn’t matter. You pick.”

 

Naturally, he went for the topmost box, removing it from the stack and placing it in front of him. With a warm smile from Dave, chipping charcoal-colored nails ripped through the wrapping paper, tearing it into a variety of strips and pieces.

Beneath the cyan coating was a black shoe box, smelling of freshly molded rubber and fabric. Cautiously, the lid was lifted.

 

“Dave you didn’t!”

 

Overjoyed and grinning, Klaus hastily pulled the two midnight blue booties out of the box, admiring how clean and flawless the shoes appeared to be.

 

“They’re- they’re absolutely wonderful!”

 

“Not even gonna lie, I took one of your shoes with me so I could get the same model. The store only had blue, but I ordered a pair of black as well. They should be here in a few days.”

 

“You really didn’t have to-”

 

“I _wanted_ to.”

 

Glistening emerald eyes shot towards the model, meeting an adoring pair of sapphire orbs, only to ignite a scorching red blush within his cheeks.

 

“Open the others, hon.”

 

The royal purple box was then gracefully slid towards him, the wrapping paper begging to be annihilated. Which is exactly what the junkie did, hands rushing to remove the layer of thin material. This time, a spark of excitement and affection encouraged him to hurriedly remove the lid, nearly tossing it in the process.

 

When his eyes fell upon the contents, an affectionate gasp consumed his lungs. The clothing inside the casing was absolutely _stunning._

 

Trembling fingertips brushed against the warm, fuzzy fabric of the navy blue sweater within. Scattered throughout the article was a series of rose-gold stars, coated in a layer of light-capturing sparkles. Beneath the torso garment was an extremely high quality pair of black skinny jeans, obviously stitched carefully and skillfully by some mythical tailor.

 

“Dave, they’re wonderful! It’s just- I don’t really have anywhere to wear clothing this nice.”

 

A sorrowful look was painted on his face, as he looked at Seterdahl, the unbelievably soft sweater still clutched within his hands.

 

“I thought we could go out tonight,” the other man replied.

 

“God, I don’t think I could go drinking _again_. I’ll probably die of alcohol poisoning.”

 

“I didn’t mean drinking. Like out to the city. Go ice skating or go see a show. Something like that. Y’know, like normal people stuff?”

 

“R-really?”

 

“I thought you could wear the clothes then, but you don’t have to of course. You could wear your regular clothes or we could go buy you som-“

 

“I want to wear this.”

 

“Okay, but please don’t feel pressured to, though. You can wear whatever you want. It’s your body.”

 

Oh Klaus’s heart skipped a beat at that statement, his breath shortening in a lovely fit of affection. Everyone else always wanted to _control_ him and _own_ him, and here David was, treating him like an _actual human being._ Really, what did he do to deserve this man? This man who bought him gifts for no occasion, who puts up with all his weird shit, who asks for nothing in return!

 

“Can I open the last gift?”

 

“Of course you can. Please do.”

 

Shards of forest green joined a sea of royal purple and cyan, as the final present was revealed: a midnight blue trench coat to match his boots.

 

“I- I don’t know what to say. I _love_ everything!”

 

“I saw the outfit and thought it would look beautiful on you.”

 

“ _Thank you, David.”_

 

Tonight was certainly going to be an adventure.

  



	22. With a Boy Like That It's Serious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ahhh fuck im so sorry my updating has been shitty my schedule has been extremely unforgiving recently T-T. Next chapter I got somethin' kinda big planned, so once again, sorry if this chapter was a bit MEHH
> 
> time is really of the essence here, my children xD
> 
> we really out here takin MAJOR OOFS 
> 
> yall were so sweet last chapter and my hoe ass really appreciates ittt <3 i seriously love yall and i couldn't do this shit without ya ;) 
> 
> thank you very much you wonderful daddies

New York City was unbelievably bright that night, seemingly more brilliant than previous ones. Perhaps it was the magic entangling with the glistening specks of white glitter that drifted into Earth’s chilled embrace. Some sort of unspoken blessing had contaminated the winter air, marking its sweet aroma of desire and innocence. 

 

Drops of golden sparkles became intertwined with the gleaming streaks of Klaus’s emerald irises, filled with such luminescence the everlasting stars seemed to dim. It was as if the entire universe would bow to him for holding such divine gorgeousness as he strolled down the bustling streets of the city. Glittering snow crystals capitulated to the man’s every wish, his aura of radiance seemingly controlling them with each resonating step into the frosty abyss. 

 

David’s gaze, infused with profound admiration, remained locked upon the other man, watching in silent adoration as a spark of childish curiosity ignited behind wandering shamrock orbs. The towering skyscrapers impaled the star-speckled airspace of twilight, each structure vividly reflected within those unforgettable verdant gemstones. Last night, the addict was beautiful. Tonight, he was heavenly in his infinite allure. 

 

There was something about the way the deep, navy trenchcoat was displayed upon the thin expanse of his shoulders to the manner in which it trailed behind him like a cape, that captured amazing grace within his movements. 

 

“I know I keep saying this, but you look absolutely stunning tonight, Klaus.” 

 

An exaggerated groan escaped soft, rosey lips, while a playful inferno danced within attractive green eyes. 

 

“Stop being such a kiss ass, model boy!”

 

“‘Model boy?’ That’s a new one. What happened to ‘Dave’ or ‘David’?” 

 

A captivating giggle, sweet, youthful and genuine, bubbled from the younger man’s throat as his gloved hands wrapped around Seterdahl’s well-defined bicep. 

 

“It got boring! Everyone calls you that, so I thought you could use a nickname.” 

 

Their walking paces had eventually synchronized, two becoming one, as they continued the evening stroll down the crowded urban streets.

 

“I mean c’mon! ‘Model boy’!? Why not something more cute,  _ Klausie? _ ” 

“ ** _NO._** You are not calling me that!” 

 

“Okay, Klausie.” 

In response, the addict balled one of his fists, playfully punching the other man’s clothed shoulder. 

 

“David, I’m gonna beat your ass!”

 

“I’d like to see you try!” 

 

A hushed chuckle was Klaus’s only response, as a tender smile had possessed his perfectly sculpted lips and flushed cheekbones. 

 

“The rink is coming up. We’re gonna make a right at the next light.” 

 

That’s exactly what they did, the sleek layer of ice filled with bustling youth coming into view as they rounded the corner. 

 

X

 

The rink’s appeal was almost fantastical, with numerous showers of white illumination becoming captured beneath the solid layer of frozen water. The gleaming lamp posts were decorated pleasingly with a variety of crimson and green ribbons lacing the height of the cylinder, neatly tied into bows near the very top. Above the ice, a series of lanterns were strung, only furthering the glow of the reflective and slippery surface.

 

The area surrounding it was padded with a sturdy grey foam, which had been indented by the merciless blades of skates in multiple areas. It would seem this activities appeal had drawn in civilians of all statuses and ages. From herds of giggling teenage girls to rambunctious families, no two groups were quite the same. 

 

However, regardless of the notable differences, one thing remained common among the people: the undeniable stares burning into the two men. A fit of embarrassment and panic had momentarily seized Klaus’s heart, halting its affectionate beating. That was, until he remembered he was adorned in some of the finest garments he’d ever been blessed with. For once, his attire was not a dead giveaway to his shameful profession, allowing his love organ to resume its sweet and unbreakable pattern. 

 

Of course, such a large number of eyeballs digging into one’s skin could draw discomfort out of even the most famous of people, prompting Hargreeves to further his vice grip upon the other man’s strapping arm. 

 

“You okay?” 

 

“Y-yeah! It’s just a bit overwhelming.”

 

“Hon, I mean, I’m kinda famous, it’s a natural reaction. People are gonna stare. If anyone bugs us I’ll handle it. Don’t worry.” 

 

With this fragile reliance established between them, the junkie gave a nod, placing this newly acquired faith into the model. It was almost unbelievable, how willing David was to fight for  _ him  _ of all people, naturally materializing a profound sense of trust. He followed almostly blindly as Seterdahl lead him into a slightly-cramped white tent, clearly a temporary setup for the winter months. 

 

A red-head stood behind the counter, which had been dusted lightly with snow, most likely originating from the blades of numerous pairs of ice skates. Behind her was a series of cubbies, holding an array of hockey and figure skates, along with an occasional pair of shoes. 

 

“Hello, how may I he-”

 

A deep gasp escaped the young woman’s throat, as a slender hand was placed over her mouth, revealing her crimson acrylic nails. 

 

“M-Mr. Seterdahl! I’m a  _ huge  _ fan! I love your clothing line and my boyfriend loves your athletic wear!” 

 

Klaus observed in silence as her pale sky blue eyes trembled in wonder and hope, directed right at the prince-like man at his side. In response, a kind, gentle smile crossed the model’s smooth lips, as an extremely warm chuckle sprung free from his throat.

 

“That’s very kind of you, miss! Sorry to cause you such a scare. You probably didn’t expect to run into me here, huh?” 

 

“Oh my gosh, don’t apologize! I really didn’t, that’s for sure! Although, it was certainly a nice surprise.”

 

“Would it be alright if we rented some skates?” 

 

The girl had jumped at that question, seemingly drawn back into the reality that she was on shift. Dave, however, was unphased, likely used to these types of encounters, where complete strangers  _ worshiped  _ his very existence. 

 

“O-of course! What size?” 

 

“A pair of twelves and a pair of eights.” 

 

While the woman retreated back towards the cubbies to retrieve the desired objects, Seterdahl turned to the addict.

“I can’t believe you never went skating before, Klausie.” 

 

An unwavering coral scorch had once again seized the junkies pale cheeks at the newly established nickname, although the chilled air nipping at fragile skin had already reddened it, providing a bit of cover. 

 

“I guess you don’t really have the chance to try new things when you spent most of your childhood locked in a basement.” 

 

The other man’s brow furrowed at that one; a fathomless display of pity rooted within twinkling azure irises. His finely sculpted features seemed to soften at the revelation, burning with a sense of confusion. 

 

“I’m sorry.” 

 

“For what? It’s not your fault my dad was a fuckin’ prick.” 

 

“I’m just- just sorry that happened to you. Y’know…if your dad hadn’t died already, I’d kill him for what he did to you.” 

 

“You don’t even know the half of it,” the addict responded while a chuckle, originating from his internal disgust, rung past his lips.

 

The dreadful conversation was fortunately cut short, as the ginger returned a moment later, two pairs of skates clutched within her pale hands. With much care, they were placed upon the countertop, while nimble fingers keyed in a few digits on the cash register. 

 

“Could I have your ID please? It’ll be returned once you bring back the skates.”

 

“Yeah, sounds good,” the model agreed, beginning to toy with his leather Gucci wallet and eventually sliding out his ID with a graceful ease. 

 

“Okay, Mr. Seterdahl, your total is gonna be twelve dollars and thirty six cents.” 

 

A twenty dollar bill was obligingly handed to the woman, before his soft hands established a firm grip upon the skate blades. 

 

“Just keep the change, miss.” 

 

“R-really? Thank you!” 

 

Finally, David had turned back to the junkie, sweetly holding out the pair of size eight figure skates. 

 

“Take these, hon.” 

 

Klaus nodded, boney fingers wrapping around the gleaming silver blades in a cautious manner.

 

“M-Mr. Seterdahl! W-wait! I’m sorry to ask but do you think you could sign something for me?” 

 

“Of course I can! Do you have a pen?” 

 

God, there really was no end to this man’s politeness! Hargreeves watched in admiration as those finely manicured fingertip wrapped around the length of a black sharpie, scribbling his dear name with an artistic stroke right onto the royal blue fabric of some Victor’s Secret hoodie. 

 

“Thank you so much!” A childish delight had coated the young woman’s words as she grinned in excitement. Her gaze was locked upon the gorgeous man in front of her, before trailing and eventually meeting mournful emerald orbs.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize you, are you famous as well?”

 

The raven-haired boy nearly choked on his own breath, a wretched coughing noise escaping his dry throat.

 

“I’m the furthest thing from famous.” 

 

A tiny, barely audible, “Oh.” was the ginger’s only response as a comforting smile had been painted across her well-proportioned face. Just then, David had finished his masterpiece, leaving a finely crafted signature upon the silky blue fabric. 

 

“Well, you have a wonderful night, young lady. Thank you for the amazing service.” 

 

X

 

“Sit. I’ll put on your skates for you.” 

 

The green-eyed beauty obeyed in a state of dazed confusion, which only increased his adorability. He looked completely lost, a quality that was likely genuine due to his lack of skating experience.

 

In his infinite affection, Seterdahl kneeled before the other man, something he would undoubtedly do over and over again, before wrapping his skillful hand around the heel of one of the royal blue booties. 

 

He gave a firm tug before the quality designed shoe slipped down the length of the junkie’s skeletal foot, revealing his pink and black zebra striped sock. 

 

“Your socks are so fucking adorable!” The model genuinely laughed, only to be lightly kicked in response. 

 

“Shut your trap, asshole.” 

 

“Wow, you’re extra feisty tonight, aren’t ya?” 

 

“Why, thank you.” 

 

Once the second boot was removed and placed aside prudently, the two size eight skates were slipped upon his two pale feet, the shining blade reflecting a striking streak of white illumination. 

 

“There are kinda fuckin’ heavy.” 

 

“You’ll get used to it.” 

 

Adept fingers had taken ahold of the sturdy strings, lacing up the skate in a tight, and fitting style, ensuring it would firmly cling to the small foot within it. The other was soon tied in a synonymous fashion. 

 

“There you go, hon. Please don’t try to stand up until I’ve got my skates on. I can’t have you getting hurt.” 

 

“Danke!” 

 

“I can tell that was German, although I have no clue what you said. For all I know you just called me a douchebag.” 

 

“It means  _ thanks _ ! Why would I call you a d-bag?”

 

“I mean you do call me ‘asshole’ on the reg, so I don’t think that was too far fetched.” 

 

“Fair enough.” 

 

A shared, playful glare lingered momentarily the two men as Dave had moved to sit beside Klaus and began removing his well-cared-for Oxfords. The shoes slid off with ease, and were hastily replaced with a pair of skates, before being laced with a skillful professionalism. 

  
  
  


The man curled his toes and wiggled his ankle to get a feel for the foreign footwear, then proceeded to stand in a confident manner. 

 

“Okay, now you try to stand up now.”

 

Panicked shamrock eyes shot frantically around the rink, before settling back upon the model, begging for some unknown display of physical affection. 

 

“Can you- can you hold me? J-Just in case? I broke my jaw once and I’d rather not do it again.” 

 

Oh, in that sweet, rare, unexpected moment, Seterdahl thanked every star in the abyss of the night sky for the opportunity to hold such a flawless man with his very own hands. Of course his desire to guarantee his strength inspired him to suppress the crimson flush that threatened to infect his cheeks, like a school boy with an unwavering crush. This was truly a beautiful sight, witnessing a man finally gather the courage to  _ ask _ for something, even something as simple as a human touch.

 

“Yeah, of course, Klausie. I don’t want you to break your jaw.” 

 

In a cautious fashion, smooth hands established an assuring hold upon the addicts upper arm, although the man continuously checked to ensure his excitement had not possessed his body and transformed the kind clutch into a vice grip. 

 

“Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay? Sometimes I don’t realize my own strength.” 

 

It was a precautionary measure, meant to protect the fallen angel himself, whose glistening stare of bewilderment had been trained upon the ground. It was clear he had not posed much of a fight to his own internal blaze, as his cheeks had been overtaken by his steady blood flow and taken on a charming pink color. 

 

“Go ahead. I’m right here. I’ll catch you if you fall.” 

 

“Here goes nothing!”  

 

With an underlying sense of uncertainty, the younger man steadily pushed himself up from the snow-dusted bench, his fragile hand tightening upon the model’s sturdy arm as his slender legs trembled slightly. 

 

“There you go! You got it.” 

 

His grip had loosened as he witnessed the other’s balance stabilize, the sharp-edged blades of his skates nearly slicing into the mats upon the floor. 

 

“Now for the hard part: actually getting on the ice.” 

  
  



	23. You Got Me Feeling Weightless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> guys DAVE CARRYING KLAUS IS MY ULTIMATE KINK LIKE I FOR REAL LOVE THAT SHIT SO SORRY IF I OVERUSE IT :))
> 
> this chapter was very fun to writeeee, i love our boys being all gay and cute <33
> 
> alright daddies im gonna spill a bit of tea about my plans for this shit:  
> so i decided to postpone the "kinda big" thing until two chapters, because I was reflecting about my plans for next chapter and tbh it's gonna be the darkest chapter yet, so I wanted to save the 'thing' for after the really dark chapter, since its kinda gonna be a MAJOR ASS OOF. 
> 
> next chapter may or may not be from a new character's perspective ;) mAyBe a HaRgReeVes sIbLiNg 
> 
> who knows? ;))

It was in a sense,  _ extremely adorable _ : the manner in which unbreakable strings of hesitation had seized Klaus’s shivering body as the fine blade beneath his foot sliced into the slippery layers of frozen water. His narrow fingers, protected by a heat-infused shroud of wool, gripped the rink’s boards firmly. 

 

“O-oh shit- that’s  _ really  _ fucking slick,” his silvery voice whispered, each word doused in a coat of indecision. 

 

“Honey, it’s ice, it’s supposed to be slippery.” 

 

David observed the man in his fueling fit of silent endearment, an adoration-laced grin painted across his well-defined cheekbones. It was as if some unseen, magnetic force drew their bodies together, their differences only furthering the intensity of their attraction. A scorching inferno, dripping with desire, was transferred from one to the other as the model gently clutched his companion’s skeletal upper arm. 

 

“Try to put your other foot on the ice,” Seterdahl sweetly coaxed the other man. “If you slip I’ll catch you.” 

 

“If I slip it’s gonna make  _ you  _ slip and then we’re both just gonna fall.”

 

“Yeah, your whole ninety eight pound body is gonna pull me down,” he teasingly replied, a good-natured sarcasm seeping through his tone. “You’re as light as a feather. I won’t let you fall, okay?” 

 

Number Four proceeded to inhale a deep breath, frosted air tickling his lungs before releasing it in a slow, prolonged fashion. 

 

“Alright, you win. But I swear if you drop me I’ll whack you with these damned skates.” 

 

“Fine by me.” 

 

It was quite obvious the addict was struck by a warranted sensation of precariousness, as his legs slightly trembled as narrow foot was transferred from the matted ground to the unpredictable abyss of ice. He froze momentarily once both edged blades were indenting the chilled surface, seemingly to ensure a bit of balance.

 

“There you go! I’ve got you. It’s not that bad once you get used to it.” 

 

Watching this boy succeed inspired this new, foreign feeling within the older man, one that could only be described as  _ proud.  _ An overwhelming tingle had infected his veins, spreading through his youthful body like wildfire. God, it was just so  _ heartwarming  _ to witness a man with shattered self-esteem accomplish something with such courage. 

“I guess it’s not  _ horrible _ ,” Hargreeves began. “I just don’t think I’ll be able to m-!”

 

At that moment, a perceivable shudder struck the man’s body as his skate’s sharpened blade slashed through the uppermost layer of ice, the unexpected slide expectedly annihilating his fragile sense of balance. His thin figure jerked hastily as his hands desperately grasped at open air, hoping to stop his demise. 

 

Luckily, David was prepared, his hold upon the man’s arm tightening, while his free hand hurriedly wrapped around his lower back, clutching his right hip to successfully halt his undesired fall. However, this precious wave of relief was short-lived, as the very second his nimble fingers made contact with the junkie’s hip, a completely unforeseen  _ yelp  _ tore through his throat. 

 

A ceaseless panic impaled the model’s chest, his heartbeat terminating for a brief period, as the dreadful sound emitted from the other man’s dear vocal cords. The older man’s grip relented in a flash, as if Klaus’s body had ignited and burned his delicate fingertips. At the lack of support, Hargreeves collapsed, his fleshless knees and gaunt fingertips crashing upon the frozen surface beneath them. 

“Oh my God, Klaus, I-I am  _ so  _ sorry! A-are you hurt!?”

 

The second man had fallen into a kneeling position, the damp layer of ice slightly soaking into the fabric of his jeans. 

 

“My fault,” the other responded roughly as he pushed himself upon his bruised knees and proceeded to wipe the snow dust atop his pant-covered thighs. 

 

“It was  _ my  _ fault. I squeezed your hip way too hard, I-I really didn’t mean to-”

 

“-Dave, stop, it wasn’t you, it was  _ me _ . You were totally fine. I- uh- I should have told you the skin on my right hip is- is uh-it’s….it’s...damaged.” 

 

“It doesn’t matter. I was too rough with you and I’m  _ really  _ sorry.” 

 

“Please stop apologizing. You’d have no way of knowing I’m sensitive there. It’s really okay. I’ve been through worse.”

 

Seterdahl gazed at Number Four with his shame-entangled ocean eyes, watching in helplessness as the addict pushed himself into a standing position, thin legs wobbling a bit as he attempted to regain a sense of balance. 

 

What the hell did he mean by ‘damaged?’ His brain naturally theorized a ‘client’ had perhaps been too rough with the man, consequently bruising his hip. However, why wouldn’t the junkie have just said ‘bruised’? Also, why would only one hip be injured if it had happened during a sexual encounter? Of course he was curious, but the older man knew better than to ask. 

 

“Yoo-hoo! Dave? Are you gonna get up or do you plan on kneeling all night?” 

 

As usual, it was that absolutely adorable voice that brought the man back to reality, kept his wandering mind chained to logic and reality. 

 

“Yeah, sorry, I was just thinking.” 

 

_ ‘About you. As usual.’   _ His heart urged his tongue to say, although common sense demanded he allow the sentence to die off and surrender control to his brain. The man rose to his feet gracefully, shifting his weight upon the sharpened blades beneath his feet. 

 

In a subconscious effort, his protective fingertips had carefully resumed their position wrapped around the tiny circumference of the addict’s upper arm, until the man had re-established his self awareness and relinquished his grip in a swift manner. 

 

X

 

“Christ on a cracker, David  _ calm down.  _ It’s fine if you touch me, as long as it’s not on my bad hip.”

 

Klaus stared at the model with his big, beautiful emeralds, witnessing the man’s newly established fear of physical contact. It was almost  _ embarrassing _ , to appear so fragile that someone is afraid a gentle touch would completely shatter you. If only he knew what Reginald had put him through; it was as if he was built to tolerate the abuse, just like he did for such a long period of time. 

 

“Are you sure? Seriously, if you’re not comfortable it’s not a problem.” 

 

God, this was growing exhausting, although somehow in a pleasant sense. Of course he found it extremely attractive how considerate Seterdahl was of his feelings, however, the man failed to understand that occasionally, he would need someone to put him in his place. With his resolve crumbling and balance failing to improve, the addict resulted to a compromise.

 

“ _ Please,  _ will you- will you hold me? I’ll show you where so you don’t have to worry about hurting me.” 

 

Just as it always did, without fail, a crimson blush dusted his cheeks as he stated his inner desires aloud, asking for something so childish. 

 

The older man’s tension levels notably decreased at this request, the distressed shroud painted upon his features finally subsiding. 

 

“Y-yeah, of course.” 

 

Hargreeves was unable to suppress the grateful smile that graced his soft, rosy lips as the man positioned himself beside him, creating a defensive shield around his lithe body. 

 

“Okay, Klausie, show me where,” David enthusiastically stated while positioning his gloved hands in front of his torso. 

 

After a high-pitched giggle pressed through his vocal cords, Number Four softly took hold of the other’s right hand, guiding it confidently around his mid-back, settling it prudently  _ above _ his right hip, atop his waist. 

 

“There we go. If it goes any lower you might touch my- my.... _ injury _ , so please just try to keep it on my waist.” 

 

At his statement, the benign fingers upon his body slightly tightened their grip in a manner of reassurance. 

 

“I won’t move it an inch.” 

 

There was some type of unseen force that proceeded to captivate Klaus as the model spoke in a tone of genuine concern, affection and honesty, his trust growing more deep-rooted as a result. Whatever this divine intervention was, its holy sickness consisted of endless passion between the two men, synching their heartbeats to create a harmony of desire. 

 

Perhaps this newly discovered sensation could be to blame for the addict’s lack of self control, the decaying muscles within his slender arm disobeying each command and crawling across the expanse of David’s broad shoulders. 

 

“I-Is it okay if I do  _ that _ ?” 

 

Verdant orbs glanced at his own lean fingers that rested atop the man’s left shoulder. 

 

“If you’re comfortable, then I am too.” 

 

Ah, leave it to Mr. Seterdahl to say something like that. It was almost  _ impossible  _ to believe a man with an army of dedicated fans, willing to capitulate to his each and every wish, was the same being who could string together a series of words to create a sentence of such sweet devotion. Truly an enticing enigma. 

 

“Okay so- uh-I guess we should at least  _ try  _ to move?” 

 

“Yeah, that’d probably be a good idea.”

 

In delicate, coordinated steps, Hargreeves managed to take a step forward, his weight shifting between the immobile wall and the other man’s shoulders. 

 

The cautious movement gradually increased in speed, a steady pace of walking developing while edged blades chopped into the flat chunk of ice. 

 

“Your balance has kinda improved, Klausie, which is a good thing, but skating is more like a...a gliding motion, not like, a series of short steps, honey.”

 

“I don’t know how to ‘ _ glide’ _ Dave. My balance has always been shit. I broke my jaw because I fell down the stairs in high heels.” 

 

“C’mon, don’t be so hard on yourself. If you never practiced, of course you’re not gonna be good at something. That doesn’t mean you can’t learn.” 

 

“Great! So when are you gonna get me a pair of high heels?” 

 

In response, a hearty chuckle resonated from the model’s mouth as he playfully face-palmed. 

 

“Don’t even try me. I’d go out and buy your ass twenty pairs if you asked.”

 

“Honestly, I’d probably fall and crack my head open on your counter or something. Just like I’m probably gonna do on the ice.” 

 

X

 

“How about I do a quick lap so you can see the motion?” 

 

It was a suggestion laced with hesitation, provoked by the mere thought of leaving the junkie unattended. It was not a lack of faith between the two men, but rather distrust towards the perverted strangers of society. 

 

Any man with even the  _ slightest _ sense of logic could conclude it was ill-advised to leave a human being of such dreamlike allure unattended. However, growing overbearing and overprotective could prove to be just as disastrous, prompting Seterdahl to momentarily leave his side. 

 

“I mean, I don’t know if it will actually help but we could try.” 

 

“Alright. Here, grab onto the wall. We can’t have you falling again.” 

 

He gingerly held the younger man’s scrawny wrist, removing it from his shoulder and thoughtfully guiding it towards the boards. 

 

“Are you good? Can I let go?” 

 

Passionate azure irises motioned at his hand, which still remained settled upon the addict’s waist.

 

“Yeah. I-I’m okay.” 

 

That was the queue to gently end the contact between their heated bodies, his grip automatically loosening. The man lingered momentarily, still mourning the loss of Klaus’s touch. 

 

“Well, go ahead. Show me how to skate, Mr. Seterdahl.”  

 

Each delicate word was coated in a thick layer of his iconic sass, the sweet childish undertone still heavy in his breath. Was that a statement or a challenge? 

 

“Alright, I’ll see you in a minute then.” 

 

With a firm push of the left foot, then a mimicked motion of the right, the gleaming blades planted upon the bottom of his feet mercilessly sliced through the fragile freeze beneath him. 

 

A pattern was soon established, his momentum building with increased speed, as control was shifted from foot to foot. 

 

A wintry breeze teased through his shimmering caramel waves as newborn snowflakes tickled his flushed cheekbones, the icy gust fluttering the fabric of his attire. His strapping body leaned with the persistent pace of bystanders, each fiber of his existence striking through the chilly abyss of January.

 

His piercing gaze remained locked forward, accessing upcoming obstacles in a swift manner, as he basked in his eternal glory. It was as if the man’s skates were no longer planted upon this Earth, walking atop of air in such a free-flowing and weightless fashion, the familiar sensation provoking tender memories of his blissful youth. 

 

By now, his speedy movement had brought him about halfway around the circumference of the rink, the model’s stare breaking from its forward path and shifting towards his dear companion. 

 

However, his wandering sapphires did not meet those breathtaking emeralds as expected, as they were trained upon something else entirely. 

 

_ Another man.  _ Another man had taken  _ his _ place by the addict’s side, his sly lips moving to form some unknown form of debauchery, which was being fed to his beloved. As for he, the raven-haired angel did not seem to be perplexed by those sinful words, his faithful ice skates subtly carrying him further and further away from the stranger’s evil clutches. 

 

Oh, it was like the ferocious beast within his heart had finally broken free! His gentle blood had heated up like lava, scorching his veins, which carried his relentless fury throughout his figure. 

He should’ve known someone would try to steal that precious boy’s heart, try to woo him with false hope and promises. 

 

David’s uncontrollable rage stemmed from his uncharacteristic envy, only being furthered as he witnessed the stranger’s paw crawl uncomfortably close to the addict’s rear, who in response whacked it away. 

 

That was when his usual, deep-rooted panic resurfaced within the shamrock streaks of his irises, which bolted around frantically, searching for a savior. 

 

Seterdahl’s pace had been drastically quickened at the mere sight, his usually graceful movement becoming hasty and erratic as he succumbed to his ceaseless temper. 

 

“Why the fuck not? Now you’ve got some fancy fuckin’ coat you’re too good for me? What’s this bullshit?” 

 

The man’s voice was overflowing with aggression and tinted with desperation, as he made another attempt at the junkie, who once again, denied the touch. 

 

“Jesus Christ, I said  _ no.  _ I’m done with that shit, would you just- just go away? The interrogations over.”

 

That was when the model finally reached his boy, hockey skates ripping through the ice roughly and bringing him to a screeching halt.  

 

“Dave!” Hargreeves exclaimed, a comforting hint of relief gripping the name. A second later, two very grateful arms were wrapped around his shoulders, the aroma of nicotine and broken hopes filling his lungs.

 

“Who the fuck is this?” 

 

The older man glared at the newcomer in a fit of attempted intimidation, naturally puffing his buff chest as one arm simultaneously clung to the junkie’s waist as a gesture of comfort. 

 

“Who the fuck are  _ you?  _  I swear if I see you lay another one of your filthy fuckin’ hands on him I'll snap your goddamn fingers like carrots.” 

 

The bearded man snorted in response, the overbearing scent of marijuana radiating from his skin. Who exactly was this asshole? 

 

“Oh is this your Sugar Daddy? Tell me, how many times did you have to open your legs to get that jacket?” 

 

“It’s not like that!” The addict’s grip tightened at the lewd questioning, his glare burning into the damp ice. 

 

The unidentified man turned to meet the model’s death stare, a devious grin crossing his cracking lips, while his predatory eyes undressed Number Four. 

 

“I hate to be the one to break it to you, buddy, but your precious little Klaus here is a total slut. Three weeks ago I paid fifty bucks and the bitch was all over my di-“

 

**“** **_Shut your fucking mouth!”_ **

 

Wrath had consumed Dave’s body, the sentence tearing through his throat like a lion’s brutal roar as he jerked forward, completely prepared to attack. 

 

“David, stop! We’re- we’re in public...if you get into a fight, it’s gonna damage your reputation. I’m not worth it.  _ Please _ , let’s just go.” 

 

Seterdahl continued to grind his teeth as an attempt to soothe his bubbling anger, while he contemplated his next move. The junkie really did have a point- surely there would be repercussions for acting too rashly in a public setting. Even as his chest screamed he annihilate the man as payment for those wretched comments, his brain had finally gained the upper hand, encouraging him to stand down. 

 

“Awww, how cute. Look at you two acting like a perfect little couple. It makes me want to puke.” 

 

“Fuck you. We’re leaving,” Klaus spat, before taking a hold of his man’s hand. 

 

However, that was easier said than done, as they were semi-stranded, due to the boy’s inability to skate. As seemingly the only option, the model proceeded with a bold move, bending slightly to get his free arm behind his love’s knees, scooping up his light frame in bridal style. 

 

A hot and heavy coral blush had befallen the younger man’s cheeks as he was (literally) swept off his feet. 

 

“W-what are you doing!?” 

 

“Getting you away from this fuckin’ asshole,” the other answered before proceeding to spit directly into the aggressor’s scowling face. 

 

The unexpected projectile sent him in a wince, which ultimately threw off his balance, his body crashing painfully to the ground, serving as a wonderful sight. 

 

That was certainly enough skating for one night. 

  
  



End file.
